THE 


SELTZER 


ij-^ijyjaniii   I  in  \s^ss 

EX  LIBRJS 


THE 
TWO-GUN   MAN 

BY  CHARLES    ALDEN    SELTZER 


\uthor  of  "The  Range  Riders,"  "The  Coming  of  the 
Law,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BY 
OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS'  HALL,  LONDON,  ENGLAND 
All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  THE  STRANGER  AT  DRY  BOTTOM  ....      9 

II.    THE  STRANGER  SHOOTS 19 

III.  THE  CABIN  IN  THE  FLAT 28 

IV.  A  "DIFFERENT  GIRL" 46 

V.    THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 68 

VI.    AT  THE  Two  DIAMOND 76 

VII.    THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN 84 

VIII.  THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN      .        .        .        .105 

IX.  WOULD  You  BE  A  "CHARACTER"?       .        .        .114 

X.  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  THE  ORPHAN           .        .        .  126 

XI.    A  TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 138 

XII.    THE  STORY  BEGINS 150 

XIII.  "Do  You  SMOKE?" 167 

XIV.  ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU  ....  179 
XV.    A  FREE  HAND 210 

XVI.  LEVIATT  TAKES  A  STEP 219 

XVII.  A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 244 

XVIII.  THE  DIM  TRAIL 263 

XIX.  THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 276 

XX.  LOVE  AND  A  RIFLE 286 

XXI.  THE  PROMISE 298 

XXII.  KEEPING  A  PROMISE 305 

XXHI.  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD  .  .  .331 

XXTV.  THE  END  OF  THE  STORY  .  344 


M545958 


THE  TWO-GUN  MAN 


THE  TWO-GUN  MAN 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  STRANGER  AT  DRY  BOTTOM 

FROM  the  crest  of  Three  Mile  Slope 
the  man  on  the  pony   could  see  the 
town    of    Dry     Bottom     straggling 
across  the  gray  floor  of  the  flat,  its  low, 
squat  buildings  looking  like  so  many  old 
boxes  blown  there  by  an  idle  wind,  or  un 
ceremoniously  dumped  there  by  a  careless 
fate  and  left,  regardless,  to  carry  out  the 
scheme  of  desolation. 

Apparently  the  rider  was  in  no  hurry, 
for,  as  the  pony  topped  the  rise  and  the 
town  burst  suddenly  into  view,  the  little  ani- 

9 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

mal  pricked  up  its  ears  and  quickened  its 
pace,  only  to  feel  the  reins  suddenly  tighten 
and  to  hear  the  rider's  voice  gruffly  discour 
aging  haste.  Therefore,  the  pony  pranced 
gingerly,  alert,  champing  the  bit  impa 
tiently,  picking  its  way  over  the  lumpy  hills 
of  stone  and  cactus,  but  holding  closely  to 
the  trail. 

The  man  lounged  in  the  saddle,  his  strong, 
well-knit  body  swaying  gracefully,  his  eyes, 
shaded  by  the  brim  of  his  hat,  narrowed 
with  slight  mockery  and  interest  as  he  gazed 
steadily  at  the  town  that  lay  before  him. 

"I  reckon  that  must  be  Dry  Bottom,"  he 
said  finally,  mentally  taking  in  its  dimen 
sions.  "If  that's  so,  I've  only  got  twenty 
miles  to  go." 

Half  way  down  the  slope,  and  still  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  town,  the  rider  drew 
the  pony  to  a  halt.  He  dropped  the  reins 
over  the  high  pommel  of  the  saddle,  drew 
out  his  two  guns,  one  after  the  other,  rolled 
the  cylinders,  and  returned  the  guns  to  their 
holsters.  He  had  heard  something  of  Dry 
Bottom's  reputation  and  in  examining  his 

10 


THE   STRANGER 


pistols  he  was  merely  preparing  himself  for 
an  emergency.  For  a  moment  after  he  had 
replaced  the  weapons  he  sat  quietly  in  the 
saddle.  Then  he  shook  out  the  reins,  spoke 
to  the  pony,  and  the  little  animal  set  for 
ward  at  a  slow  lope. 

An  ironic  traveler,  passing  through  Dry 
Bottom  in  its  younger  days,  before  civic 
spirit  had  definitely  centered  its  efforts 
upon  things  nomenclatural,  had  hinted  that 
the  town  should  be  known  as  "dry"  because 
of  the  fact  that  while  it  boasted  seven  build 
ings,  four  were  saloons;  and  that  "bottom" 
might  well  be  used  as  a  suffix,  because,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  a  town  of  seven  build 
ings,  four  of  which  were  saloons,  might  rea 
sonably  expect  to  descend  to  the  very  depths 
of  moral  iniquity. 

The  ironic  traveler  had  spoken  with  pro 
phetic  wisdom.  Dry  Bottom  was  trying  as 
best  it  knew  how  to  wallow  in  the  depths  of 
sin.  Unlovely,  soiled,  desolate  of  verdure, 
dumped  down  upon  a  flat  of  sand  in  a  tree 
less  waste,  amid  cactus,  crabbed  yucca,  scor 
pions,  horned  toads,  and  rattlesnakes,  Dry; 

11 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

Bottom  had  forgotten  its  morals,  subverted 
its  principles,  and  neglected  its  God. 

As  the  rider  approached  to  within  a  few 
hundred  yards  of  the  edge  of  town  he  be 
came  aware  of  a  sudden  commotion.  He 
reined  in  his  pony,  allowing  it  to  advance 
at  a  walk,  while  with  alert  eyes  he  endeav 
ored  to  search  out  the  cause  of  the  excite 
ment.  He  did  not  have  long  to  watch  for 
the  explanation. 

A  man  had  stepped  out  of  the  door  of 
one  of  the  saloons,  slowly  walking  twenty 
feet  away  from  it  toward  the  center  of  the 
street.  Immediately  other  men  had  fol 
lowed.  But  these  came  only  to  a  point  just 
outside  the  door.  For  some  reason  which 
was  not  apparent  to  the  rider,  they  were 
giving  the  first  man  plenty  of  room. 

The  rider  was  now  able  to  distinguish  the 
faces  of  the  men  in  the  group,  and  he  gazed 
with  interested  eyes  at  the  man  who  had 
first  issued  from  the  door  of  the  saloon. 

The  man  was  tall — nearly  as  tall  as  the 
rider — and  in  his  every  movement  seemed 
sure  of  himself.  He  was  young,  seemingly 

12 


THE   STRANGER 


about  thirty-five,  with  shifty,  insolent  eyes 
and  a  hard  mouth  whose  lips  were  just  now: 
curved  into  a  self-conscious  smile. 

The  rider  had  now  approached  to  within 
fifty  feet  of  the  man,  halting  his  pony  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  hitching  rail  that 
skirted  the  front  of  the  saloon.  He  sat 
carelessly  in  the  saddle,  his  gaze  fixed  on 
the  man. 

The  men  who  had  followed  the  first  man 
out,  to  the  number  of  a  dozen,  were  appar 
ently  deeply  interested,  though  plainly 
skeptical.  A  short,  fat  man,  who  was  stand 
ing  near  the  saloon  door,  looked  on  with  a 
half -sneer.  Several  others  were  smiling 
blandly.  A  tall  man  on  the  extreme  edge 
of  the  crowd,  near  the  rider,  was  watching 
the  man  in  the  street  gravely.  Other  men 
had  allowed  various  expressions  to  creep 
into  their  faces.  But  all  were  silent. 

Not  so  the  man  in  the  street.  Plainly, 
here  was  conceit  personified,  and  yet  a  con 
ceit  mingled  with  a  maddening  insolence. 
His  expression  told  all  that  this  thing  which 
he  was  about  to  do  was  worthy  of  the  closest 

13 


THE ^TWO-GUN   MAN 

attention.  He  was  the  axis  upon  which  the 
interest  of  the  universe  revolved. 

Certainly  he  knew  of  the  attention  he  was 
attracting.  Men  were  approaching  from 
the  other  end  of  the  street,  joining  the 
group  in  front  of  the  saloon — which  the 
rider  now  noticed  was  called  the  "Silver 
Dollar."  The  newcomers  were  inquisitive; 
they  spoke  in  low  tones  to  the  men  who  had 
arrived  before  them,  gravely  inquiring  the 
cause. 

But  the  man  in  the  street  seemed  not  dis 
turbed  by  his  rapidly  swelling  audience. 
He  stood  in  the  place  he  had  selected,  his 
insolent  eyes  roving  over  the  assembled  com 
pany,  his  thin,  expressive  lips  opening  a 
very  little  to  allow  words  to  filter  through 
them. 

"Gents,"  he  said,  "you're  goin'  to  see 
some  shootin' !  I  told  you  in  the  Silver  Dol 
lar  that  I  could  keep  a  can  in  the  air  while 
I  put  five  holes  in  it.  There's  some  of  you 
gassed  about  bein'  showed,  not  believin'. 
An'  now  I'm  goin'  to  show  you!" 

He  reached  down  and  took  up  a  can  that 
14 


THE   STRANGER 


had  lain  at  his  feet,  removing  the  red  litho 
graphed  label,  which  had  a  picture  of  a 
large  tomato  in  the  center  of  it.  The  can 
was  revealed,  naked  and  shining  in  the 
white  sunlight.  The  man  placed  the  can  in 
his  left  hand  and  drew  his  pistol  with  the 
right. 

Then  he  tossed  the  can  into  the  air. 
While  it  still  rose  his  weapon  exploded,  the 
can  shook  spasmodically  and  turned  clear 
over.  Then  in  rapid  succession  followed 
four  other  explosions,  the  last  occurring 
just  before  the  can  reached  the  ground.  The 
man  smiled,  still  holding  the  smoking 
weapon  in  his  hand. 

The  tall  man  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
group  now  stepped  forward  and  examined 
the  can,  while  several  other  men  crowded 
about  to  look.  There  were  exclamations  of 
surprise.  It  was  curious  to  see  how  quickly 
enthusiasm  and  awe  succeeded  skepticism. 

"He's  done  it,  boys!"  cried  the  tall  man, 
holding  the  can  aloft.  "Bored  it  in  five 
places!"  He  stood  erect,  facing  the  crowd. 
"I  reckon  that's  some  shootinT'  He  now 

15 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

threw  a  glance  of  challenge  and  defiance 
about  him.  "I've  got  a  hundred  dollars  to 
say  that  there  ain't  another  man  in  this  here 
town  can  do  it!" 

Several  men  tried,  but  none  equaled  the 
first  man's  performance.  Many  of  the  men 
could  not  hit  the  can  at  all.  The  first  man 
watched  their  efforts,  sneers  twitching  his 
lips  as  man  after  man  failed. 

Presently  all  had  tried.  Watching 
closely,  the  rider  caught  an  expression  of 
slight  disappointment  on  the  tall  man's  face. 
The  rider  was  the  only  man  who  had  not  yet 
tried  his  skill  with  the  pistol,  and  the  man 
in  the  street  now  looked  up  at  him,  his  eyes 
glittering  with  an  insolent  challenge.  As  it 
happened,  the  rider  glanced  at  the  shooter  at 
the  instant  the  latter  had  turned  to  look  up 
at  him.  Their  eyes  met  fairly,  the  shooter's 
conveying  a  silent  taunt.  The  rider  smiled, 
slight  mockery  glinting  his  eyes. 

Apparently  the  stranger  did  not  care  to 
try  his  skill.  He  still  sat  lazily  in  the  sad 
dle,  his  gaze  wandering  languidly  over  the 
crowd.  The  latter  plainly  expected  him  to 

16 


THE   STRANGER 


take  part  in  the  shooting  match  and  was  im 
patient  over  his  inaction. 

"Two-gun,"  sneered  a  man  who  stood 
near  the  saloon  door.  "I  wonder  what  he 
totes  them  two  guns  for?" 

The  shooter  heard  and  turned  toward  the 
man  who  had  spoken,  his  lips  wreathed  sa 
tirically. 

"I  reckon  he  wouldn't  shoot  nothin'  with 
them,"  he  said,  addressing  the  man  who  had 
spoken. 

Several  men  laughed.  The  tall  man  who 
had  revealed  interest  before  now  raised  a 
hand,  checking  further  comment. 

"That  offer  of  a  hundred  to  the  man  who 
can  beat  that  shootin'  still  goes,"  he  de 
clared.  "An'  I'm  taking  off  the  condition. 
The  man  that  tries  don't  have  to  belong  to 
Dry  Bottom.  No  stranger  is  barred!" 

The  stranger's  glance  again  met  the 
shooter's.  The  latter  grinned  felinely. 
Then  the  rider  spoke.  The  crowd  gave  him 
its  polite  attention. 

"I  reckon  you-all  think  you've  seen  some 
shootin',"  he  said  in  a  steady,  even  voice, 
17 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

singularly  free  from  boast.  "But  I  reckon 
you  ain't  seen  any  real  shootinV  He  turned 
to  the  tall,  grave-faced  man.  "I  ain't  got 
no  hundred,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  goin'  to 
show  you." 

He  still  sat  in  the  saddle.  But  now  with 
an  easy  motion  he  swung  down  and  hitched 
his  pony  to  the  rail. 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  STRANGER  SHOOTS 

THE  stranger  seemed  taller  on  the 
ground  than  in  the  saddle  and  an 
admirable  breadth  of  shoulder  and 
slenderness  of  waist  told  eloquently  of 
strength.  He  could  not  have  been  over 
twenty-five  or  six.  Yet  certain  hard  lines 
about  his  mouth,  the  glint  of  mockery  in  his 
eyes,  the  pronounced  forward  thrust  of  the 
chin,  the  indefinable  force  that  seemed  to 
radiate  from  him,  told  the  casual  observer 
that  here  was  a  man  who  must  be  ap 
proached  with  care. 

But  apparently  the  shooter  saw  no  such 
signs.  In  the  first  glance  that  had  been  ex 
changed  between  the  two  men  there  had 
been  a  lack  of  ordinary  cordiality.  And 

19 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

now,  as  the  rider  slid  down  from  his  pony 
and  advanced  toward  the  center  of  the 
street,  the  shooter's  lips  curled.  Writhing 
through  them  came  slow-spoken  words. 

"You  runnin'  sheep,  stranger?" 

The  rider's  lips  smiled,  but  his  eyes  were 
steady  and  cold.  In  them  shone  a  flash  of 
cold  humor.  He  stood,  quietly  contemplat 
ing  his  insulter. 

Smiles  appeared  on  the  faces  of  several 
of  the  onlookers.  The  tall  man  with  the 
grave  face  watched  with  a  critical  eye.  The 
insult  had  been  deliberate,  and  many  men 
crouched,  plainly  expecting  a  serious  out 
come.  But  the  stranger  made  no  move 
toward  his  guns,  and  when  he  answered  he 
might  have  been  talking  about  the  weather, 
so  casual  was  his  tone. 

"I  reckon  you  think  you're  a  plum  man," 
he  said  quietly.  "But  if  you  are,  you  ain't 
showed  it  much — buttin'  in  with  that  there 
wise  observation.  An'  there's  some  men 
who  think  that  shootin'  at  a  man  is  more 
excitin'  than  shootin'  at  a  can." 

There  was  a  grim  quality  in  his  yoice  now. 
20 


THE   STRANGER    SHOOTS 

He  leaned  forward  slightly,  his  eyes  cold 
and  alert.  The  shooter  sneered  experiment 
ally.  Again  the  audience  smiled. 

But  the  tall  man  now  stepped  forward. 
"You've  made  your  play,  stranger,"  he  said 
quietly.  "I  reckon  it's  up  to  you  to  make 
good." 

"Correct,"  agreed  the  stranger.  "I'm 
goin'  to  show  you  some  real  shootin'.  You 
got  another  can?" 

Some  one  dived  into  the  Silver  Dollar  and 
returned  in  a  flash  with  another  tomato  can. 
This  the  stranger  took,  removing  the  label, 
as  the  shooter  had  done.  Then,  smiling,  he 
took  a  position  in  the  center  of  the  street, 
the  can  in  his  right  hand. 

He  did  not  draw  his  weapon  as  the  shooter 
had  done,  but  stood  loosely  in  his  place,  his 
right  hand  still  grasping  the  can,  the  left 
swinging  idly  by  his  side.  Apparently  he 
did  not  mean  to  shoot.  Sneers  reached  the 
faces  of  several  men  in  the  crowd.  The 
shooter  growled,  "Fourflush." 

There  was  a  flash  as  the  can  rose  twenty 
fee,t  in  the  air,  propelled  by  the  right  hand 

21 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

of  the  stranger.  As  the  can  reached  the 
apex  of  its  climb  the  stranger's  right  hand 
descended  and  grasped  the  butt  of  the 
weapon  at  his  right  hip.  There  was  a  flash 
as  the  gun  came  out;  a  gasp  of  astonish 
ment  from  the  watchers.  The  can  was  ar 
rested  in  the  first  foot  of  its  descent  by  the 
shock  of  the  first  bullet  striking  it.  It 
jumped  up  and  out  and  again  began  its  in 
terrupted  fall,  only  to  stop  dead  still  in  the 
air  as  another  bullet  struck  it.  There  was 
an  infinitesimal  pause,  and  then  twice  more 
the  can  shivered  and  jumped.  No  man  in 
the  crowd  but  could  tell  that  the  bullets  were 
striking  true. 

The  can  was  still  ten  feet  in  the  air  and 
well  out  from  the  stranger.  The  latter 
whipped  his  weapon  to  a  level,  the  bullet 
striking  the  can  and  driving  it  twenty  feet 
from  him.  Then  it  dropped.  But  when  it 
was  within  five  feet  of  the  ground  the 
stranger's  gun  spoke  again.  The  can 
leaped,  careened  sideways,  and  fell,  shat 
tered,  to  the  street,  thirty  feet  distant  from, 
the  stranger. 

H 


THE   STRANGER   SHOOTS 

Several  men  sprang  forward  to  examine 
it. 

"Six  times!"  ejaculated  the  tall  man  in 
an  awed  tone.  "An*  he  didn't  pull  his  gun 
till  he'd  throwed  the  can!" 

He  approached  the  stranger,  drawing  him 
confidentially  aside.  The  crowd  slowly  dis 
persed,  loudly  proclaiming  the  stranger's 
ability  with  the  six-shooter.  The  latter  took 
his  honors  lightly,  the  mocking  smile  again 
on  his  face. 

"I'm  lookin'  for  a  man  who  can  shoot," 
said  the  tall  man,  when  the  last  man  of  the 
crowd  had  disappeared  into  the  saloon. 

The  stranger  smiled.  "I  reckon  you've 
just  seen  some  shootin',"  he  returned. 

The  tall  man  smiled  mirthlessly.  "You 
particular  about  what  you  shoot  at?"  he 
inquired. 

The  stranger's  lips  straightened  coldly. 
"I  used  to  have  that  habit,"  he  returned 
evenly. 

"Hard  luck?"  queried  the  tall  man. 

"I'm  rollin'  in  wealth,"  stated  the 
stranger,  with  an  ironic  sneer. 

23 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

The  tall  man's  eyes  glittered.  "Where 
you  from?"  he  questioned. 

"You  e'n  have  three  guesses,"  returned 
the  stranger,  his  eyes  narrowing  with  the 
mockery  that  the  tall  man  had  seen  in  them 
before. 

The  tall  man  adopted  a  placative  tone. 
"I  ain't  wantin'  to  butt  into  your  business," 
he  said.  "I  was  wantin'  to  find  out  if  any 
one  around  here  knowed  you." 

"This  town  didn't  send  any  reception 
committee  to  meet  me,  did  they?"  smiled 
the  stranger. 

"Correct,"  said  the  tall  man.  He  leaned 
closer.  "You  willin'  to  work  your  guns  for 
me  for  a  hundred  a  month?" 

The  stranger  looked  steadily  into  the  tall 
man's  eyes. 

"You've  been  right  handy  askin'  ques 
tions,"  he  said.  "Mebbe  you'll  answer  some. 
IWhat's  your  name?" 

"Stafford,"  returned  the  tall  man.  "I'm 
managin'  the  Two  Diamond,  over  on  the 
lite." 

The  stranger's  eyelashes  flickered  slightly. 


THE   STRANGER    SHOOTS 

His  eyes  narrowed  quizzically.  "What  you 
wantin'  of  a  gun-man?"  he  asked. 

"Rustler,"  returned  the  other  shortly. 

The  stranger  smiled.  "Figger  on  shoot- 
in'  him?"  he  questioned. 

Stafford  hesitated.  "Well,  no,"  he  re 
turned.  "That  is,  not  until  I'm  sure  I've 
got  the  right  one."  He  seized  the  stranger's 
arm  in  a  confidential  grip.  "You  see,"  he 
explained,  "I  don't  know  just  where  I'm  at. 
There's  been  a  rustler  workin'  on  the  herd, 
an'  I  ain't  been  able  to  get  close  enough  to 
find  out  who  it  is.  But  rustlin'  has  got  to 
be  stopped.  I've  sent  over  to  Raton  to  get 
a  man  named  Ned  Ferguson,  who's  been 
workin'  for  Sid  Tucker,  of  the  Lazy  J. 
Tucker  wrote  me  quite  a  while  back,  tellin' 
me  that  this  man  was  plum  slick  at  nosin' 
out  rustlers.  He  was  to  come  to  the  Two 
Diamond  two  weeks  ago.  But  he  ain't 
showed  up,  an'  I've  about  concluded  that 
he  ain't  comin'.  An'  so  I  come  over  to  Dry 
Bottom  to  find  a  man." 

"You've  found  one,"  smiled  the  stranger. 

Stafford  drew  out  a  handful  of  double 
35 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

eagles  and  pressed  them  into  the  other's 
hand.  "I'm  goin'  over  to  the  Two  Diamond 
now,"  he  said.  "You'd  better  wait  a  day  or 
two,  so's  no  one  will  get  wise.  Come  right 
to  me,  like  you  was  wantin'  a  job." 

He  started  toward  the  hitching  rail  for 
his  pony,  hesitated  and  then  walked  back. 

"I  didn't  get  your  name,"  he  smiled. 

The  stranger's  eyes  glittered  humorously. 
"It's  Ferguson,"  he  said  quietly. 

Stafford's  eyes  widened  with  astonish 
ment.  Then  his  right  hand  went  out  and 
grasped  the  other's. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said  warmly,  "that's  what 
I  call  luck." 

Ferguson  smiled.  "Mebbe  it's  luck,"  he 
returned.  "But  before  I  go  over  to  work  for 
you  there's  got  to  be  an  understandin'.  I  c'n 
shoot  some,"  he  continued,  looking  steadily 
at  Stafford,  "but  I  ain't  runnin'  around  the 
country  shootin'  men  without  cause.  I'm 
willin'  to  try  an'  find  your  rustler  for  you, 
but  I  ain't  shootin'  him — unless  he  goes  to 
crowdin'  me  mighty  close." 

"I'm  agreein'  to  that,"  returned  Stafford 
S6 


THE   STRANGER    SHOOTS 

He  turned  again,  looking  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "You'll  sure  be  over?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"I'll  be  there  the  day  after  to-morrow," 
stated  Ferguson. 

He  turned  and  went  into  the  Silver  Dol 
lar.  Stafford  mounted  his  pony  and  loped 
rapidly  out  of  town. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   CABIN   IN  THE  FLAT 

IT  was  the  day  appointed  by  Ferguson 
for  his  presence  at  the  Two  Diamond 
ranch,  and  he  was  going  to  keep  his 
word.  Three  hours  out  of  Dry  Bottom  he 
had  struck  the  Ute  trail  and  was  loping  his 
pony  through  a  cottonwood  that  skirted  the 
river.  It  was  an  enchanted  country  through 
which  he  rode;  a  land  of  vast  distances,  of 
white  sunlight,  blue  skies,  and  clear,  pure 
air.  Mountains  rose  in  the  distances,  their 
snowcapped  peaks  showing  above  the  clouds 
like  bald  rock  spires  above  the  calm  level 
of  the  sea.  Over  the  mountains  swam  the 
sun,  its  lower  rim  slowly  disappearing  be 
hind  the  peaks,  throwing  off  broad  white 
shafts  of  light  that  soon  began  to  dim  as 

28 


THE    CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

vari-colors,  rising  in  a  slumberous  haze  like 
a  gauze  veil,  mingled  with  them. 

Ferguson's  gaze  wandered  from  the  trail 
to  the  red  buttes  that  fringed  the  river.  He 
knew  this  world;  there  was  no  novelty  here 
for  him.  He  knew  the  lava  beds,  looming 
gray  and  dead  beneath  the  foothills;  he 
knew  the  grotesque  rock  shapes  that  seemed 
to  hint  of  a  mysterious  past.  Nature  had 
not  altered  her  face.  On  the  broad  levels 
were  the  yellow  tinted  lines  that  told  of  the 
presence  of  soap-weed,  the  dark  lines  that 
betrayed  the  mesquite,  the  saccatone  belts 
that  marked  the  little  guillies.  Then  there 
were  the  barrancas,  the  arid  stretches  where 
the  sage-brush  and  the  cactus  grew.  Snaky 
octilla  dotted  the  space;  the  crabbed  yucca 
had  not  lost  its  ugliness. 

Ferguson  looked  upon  the  world  with  un 
seeing  eyes.  He  had  lived  here  long  and 
the  country  had  not  changed.  It  would 
never  change.  Nothing  ever  changed  here 
but  the  people. 

But  he  himself  had  not  changed.  Twen 
ty-seven  years  in  this  country  was  a  long 

29 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

time,  for  here  life  was  not  measured  by  age, 
but  by  experience.  Looking  back  over  the 
years  he  could  see  that  he  was  living  to-day 
as  he  had  lived  last  year,  as  he  had  lived 
during  the  last  decade — a  hard  life,  but  hav 
ing  its  compensations. 

His  coming  to  the  Two  Diamond  ranch 
was  merely  another  of  those  incidents  that, 
during  the  past  year,  had  broken  the  mo 
notony  of  range  life  for  him.  He  had  had 
some  success  in  breaking  up  a  band  of  cattle 
thieves  which  had  made  existence  miserable 
for  Sid  Tucker,  his  employer,  and  the  latter 
had  recommended  him  to  Stafford.  The 
promise  of  high  wages  had  been  attractive, 
and  so  he  had  come.  He  had  not  expected 
to  surprise  any  one.  When  during  his  con 
versation  with  the  tall  man  in  Dry  Bottom 
he  had  discovered  that  the  latter  was  the 
man  for  whom  he  was  to  work  he  had  been 
surprised  himself.  But  he  had  not  revealed 
his  surprise.  Experience  and  association 
with  men  who  kept  their  emotions  pretty 
much  to  themselves  had  taught  him  the  value 
of  repression  when  in  the  presence  of  others. 

30 


THE   CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

But  alone  he  allowed  his  emotions  full 
play.  There  was  no  one  to  see,  no  one  to 
hear,  and  the  silence  and  the  distances,  and 
the  great,  swimming  blue  sky  would  not 
tell. 

Stafford's  action  in  coming  to  Dry  Bot 
tom  for  a  gunfighter  had  puzzled  him  not  a 
little.  Apparently  the  Two  Diamond  man 
ager  was  intent  upon  the  death  of  the  rus 
tler  he  had  mentioned.  He  had  been  search 
ing  for  a  man  who  could  "shoot,"  he  had 
said.  Ferguson  had  interpreted  this  to 
mean  that  he  desired  to  employ  a  gunfighter 
who  would  not  scruple  to  kill  any  man  he 
pointed  out,  whether  innocent  or  guilty.  He 
had  had  some  experience  with  unscrupulous 
ranch  managers,  and  he  had  admired  them 
very  little.  Therefore,  during  the  ride  to 
day,  his  lips  had  curled  sarcastically  many 
times. 

Riding  through  a  wide  clearing  in  the  cot- 
tonwood,  he  spoke  a  thought  that  had  trou 
bled  him  not  a  little  since  he  had  entered 
Stafford's  employ. 

"^Why,"  he  said,  as  he  rode  along,  sitting 
31 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

carelessly  in  the  saddle,  "he's  wantin'  to* 
make  a  gunfighter  out  of  me.  But  I  reckon 
I  ain't  goin'  to  shoot  no  man  unless  I'm 
pretty  sure  he's  gunnin'  for  me."  His  lips 
curled  ironically.  "I  wonder  what  the  boys 
of  the  Lazy  J  would  think  if  they  knowed 
that  a  guy  was  tryin'  to  make  a  gunfighter 
out  of  their  old  straw  boss.  I  reckon  they'd 
think  that  guy  was  loco — or  a  heap  mistaken 
in  his  man.  But  I'm  seein'  this  thing 
through.  I  ain't  ridin'  a  hundred  miles  just 
to  take  a  look  at  the  man  who's  hirin'  me. 
It'll  be  a  change.  An'  when  I  go  back  to 
the  Lazy  J " 

It  was  not  the  pony's  fault.  Neither  was 
it  Ferguson's.  The  pony  was  experienced; 
behind  his  slant  eyes  was  stored  a  world  of 
horse-wisdom  that  had  pulled  him  and  his 
rider  through  many  tight  places.  And  Fer 
guson  had  ridden  horses  all  his  life;  he 
would  not  have  known  what  to  do  without 
one. 

But  the  pony  stumbled.  The  cause  was 
a  prairie-dog  hole,  concealed  under  a  clump 
of  matted  mesquite.  Ferguson  lunged  for- 


THE   CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

ward,  caught  at  the  saddle  horn,  missed  it, 
and  pitched  head-foremost  out  of  the  saddle, 
turning  completely  over  and  alighting  upon 
his  feet.  He  stood  erect  for  an  instant,  but 
the  momentum  had  been  too  great.  He 
went  down,  and  when  he  tried  to  rise  a 
twinge  of  pain  in  his  right  ankle  brought  a 
grimace  to  his  face.  He  arose  and  hopped 
over  to  a  flat  rock,  near  where  his  pony 
now  stood  grazing  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

Drawing  off  his  boot,  Ferguson  made  a 
rapid  examination  of  the  ankle.  It  was  in 
flamed  and  painful,  but  not  broken.  He 
believed  he  could  see  it  swelling.  He 
rubbed  it,  hoping  to  assuage  the  pain.  The 
woolen  sock  interfered  with  the  rubbing, 
and  he  drew  it  off. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  worked  with  the 
ankle,  but  to  little  purpose.  He  finally  be 
came  convinced  that  it  was  a  bad  sprain,  and 
he  looked  up,  scowling.  The  pony  turned 
an  inquiring  eye  upon  him,  and  he  grinned, 
suddenly  smitten  with  the  humor  of  the 
situation. 

33 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

"You  ain't  got  no  call  to  look  so  dog- 
goned  innocent  about  it,"  he  said.  "If  you'd 
been  tendin'  to  your  business,  you  wouldn't 
have  stepped  into  no  damned  gopher  hole." 

The  pony  moved  slowly  away,  and  he 
looked  whimsically  after  it,  remarking: 
"Mebbe  if  I'd  been  tendin'  to  my  business 
it  wouldn't  have  happened,  either."  He 
spoke  again  to  the  pony.  "I  reckon  you 
know  that  too,  Mustard.  You're  some 


wise." 


The  animal  was  now  at  some  little  dis 
tance  from  the  rock  upon  which  he  was  sit 
ting.  He  arose,  hobbling  on  one  foot 
toward  it,  carrying  the  discarded  boot  in 
his  hand.  He  thought  of  riding  with  the 
foot  bare.  At  the  Two  Diamond  he  was 
sure  to  find  some  sort  of  liniment  which, 
with  the  help  of  a  bandage,  would  materially; 
assist  nature  in 

He  was  passing  a  filmy  mesquite  clump — 
the  bare  foot  swinging  wide.  There  was  a 
warning  rattle;  a  sharp  thrust  of  a  flat, 
brown  head. 

Ferguson  halted  in  astonishment,  almost 
34 


THE   CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

knocked  off  his  balance  with  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  attack.  He  still  held  the  boot, 
his  fingers  gripping  it  tightly.  He  raised 
it,  with  a  purely  involuntary  motion,  as 
though  to  hurl  it  at  his  insidious  enemy. 
But  he  did  not.  The  arm  fell  to  his  side, 
and  his  face  slowly  whitened.  He  stared 
dully  and  uncomprehendingly  at  the  sinu 
ous  shape  that  was  slipping  noiselessly  away 
through  the  matted  grass. 

Somehow,  he  had  never  thought  of  being 
bitten  by  a  rattler.  He  had  seen  so  many 
of  them  that  he  had  come  to  look  upon 
them  only  as  targets  at  which  he  might 
shoot  when  he  thought  he  needed  prac 
tice.  And  now  he  was  bitten.  The  unreal 
ity  of  the  incident  surprised  him.  He  looked 
around  at  the  silent  hills,  at  the  sun  that 
swam  above  the  mountain  peaks,  at  the 
great,  vast  arc  of  sky  that  yawned  above 
him.  Hills,  sky,  and  sun  seemed  also  un 
real.  It  was  as  though  he  had  been  sud 
denly  thrust  into  a  land  of  dreams. 

But  presently  the  danger  of  the  situation 
burst  upon  him,  and  he  lived  once  more 

35 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

in  the  reality.  He  looked  down  at  his  foot. 
A  livid,  pin-point  wound  showed  in  the 
flesh  beside  the  arch.  A  tiny  stream  of 
blood  was  oozing  from  it.  He  forgot  the 
pain  of  the  sprained  ankle  and  stood  upon 
both  feet,  his  body  suddenly  rigid,  his  face 
red  with  a  sudden,  consuming  anger,  shak 
ing  a  tense  fist  at  the  disappearing  rattler. 

"You  damned  sneak!"  he  shouted  shrilly. 

In  the  same  instant  he  had  drawn  one  of 
his  heavy  guns  and  swung  it  over  his  head. 
Its  crashing  report  brought  a  sudden  swish 
ing  from  beneath  the  grass,  and  he  hopped 
over  closer  and  sent  three  more  bullets  into 
the  threshing  brown  body.  He  stood  over 
it  for  a  moment,  his  teeth  showing  in  a 
savage  snarl. 

"You  won't  bite  any  one  else,  damn  you!" 
he  shouted. 

The  impotence  of  this  conduct  struck  him 
immediately.  He  flushed  and  drooped  his 
head,  a  grim  smile  slowly  wearing  down 
his  expression  of  panic.  Seldom  did  he  al 
low  his  emotions  to  reveal  themselves  so 
plainly.  But  the  swiftness  of  the  rattler's 

36 


THE    CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 


attack,  the  surprise  when  he  had  not  been 
thinking  of  such  a  thing,  the  fact  that  he 
was  far  from  help  and  that  his  life  was  in 
danger — all  had  a  damaging  effect  upon 
his  self-control.  And  yet  the  smile  showed 
that  he  was  still  master  of  himself. 

Very  deliberately  he  returned  to  the  rock 
upon  which  he  had  been  sitting,  ripping  off 
his  coat  and  tearing  away  the  sleeve  of  his 
woollen  shirt.  Twisting  the  sleeve  into  the 
form  of  a  rude  rope,  he  tied  it  loosely 
around  his  leg,  just  above  the  ankle.  Then 
he  thrust  his  knife  between  the  improvised 
rope  and  the  leg,  forming  a  crude  tourni 
quet.  He  twisted  the  knife  until  tears  of 
pain  formed  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  fastened 
the  knife  by  tucking  the  haft  under  the 
rope.  His  movements  had  been  very  delib 
erate,  but  sure,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
hobbled  to  his  pony  and  swung  into  the 
saddle. 

He  had  seen  men  who  had  been  bitten  by 
rattlers — had  seen  them  die.  And  he  knew: 
that  if  he  did  not  get  help  within  half  an 
hour  there  would  be  little  use  of  doing  any- 

37 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

thing  further.  In  half  an  hour  the  virus 
would  have  so  great  a  grip  upon  him  that 
it  would  be  practically  useless  to  apply  any 
of  the  antidotes  commonly  known  to  the 
inhabitants  of  the  country. 

Inquiries  that  he  had  made  at  Dry  Bot 
tom  had  resulted  in  the  discovery  that  the 
Two  Diamond  ranch  was  nearly  thirty 
miles  from  the  town.  If  he  had  averaged 
eight  miles  an  hour  he  had  covered  about 
twenty-four  miles  of  the  distance.  That 
would  still  leave  about  six.  And  he  could 
not  hope  to  ride  those  six  miles  in  time  to 
get  any  benefit  from  an  antidote. 

His  lips  straightened,  he  stared  grimly  at 
a  ridge  of  somber  hills  that  fringed  the  sky 
line.  They  had  told  him  back  in  Dry  Bot 
tom  that  the  Two  Diamond  ranch  was  some 
where  in  a  big  basin  below  those  hills. 

"I  reckon  I  won't  get  there,  after  all," 
he  said,  commenting  aloud. 

Thereafter  he  rode  grimly  on,  keeping  a 
good  grip  upon  himself — for  he  had  seen 
men  bitten  by  rattlers  who  had  lost  their 
self -Control — and  they  had  not  been  good  to 

38 


THE   CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

look  upon.  Much  depended  upon  coolness ; 
somewhere  he  had  heard  that  it  was  a  mis 
take  for  a  bitten  man  to  exert  himself  in 
the  first  few  minutes  following  a  bite;  exer 
tion  caused  the  virus  to  circulate  more  rap 
idly  through  the  system.  And  so  he  rode 
at  an  even  pace,  carefully  avoiding  the 
rough  spots,  though  keeping  as  closely  to 
the  trail  as  possible. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  a  diamond-back — an'  a 
five-foot  one — this  rope  that  I've  got  around 
my  leg  might  be  enough  to  fool  him,"  he  said 
once,  aloud.  "But  I  reckon  he's  got  me." 
His  eyes  lighted  savagely  for  an  instant. 
"But  I  got  him,  too.  Had  the  nerve  to 
think  that  he  could  get  away  after  throw- 
in'  his  hooks  into  me." 

Presently  his  eyes  caught  the  saffron  light 
that  glowed  in  the  western  sky.  He  laughed 
with  a  grim  humor.  "I've  heard  tell  that 
a  snake  don't  die  till  sundown — much  as 
you  hurt  him.  If  that's  so,  an'  I  don't  get 
to  where  I  c'n  get  some  help,  I  reckon  it'll 
be  a  stand  off  between  him  an'  me  as  to 
who's  goin'  first." 

39 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

A  little  later  he  drew  Mustard  to  a  halt, 
sitting  very  erect  in  the  saddle  and  fixing 
his  gaze  upon  a  tall  cottonwood  tree  that 
rose  near  the  trail.  His  heart  was  racing 
madly,  and  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  he  felt 
himself  swaying  from  side  to  side.  He  had 
often  seen  a  rattler  doing  that — flat,  ugly 
head  raised  above  his  coiled  body,  forked 
tongue  shooting  out,  his  venomous  eyes 
glittering,  the  head  and  the  part  of  the 
body  rising  above  the  coils  swaying  grace 
fully  back  and  forth.  Yes,  gracefully, 
for  in  spite  of  his  hideous  aspect, 
there  was  a  certain  horrible  ease  of  move 
ment  about  a  rattler — a  slippery,  sinuous 
motion  that  partly  revealed  reserve 
strength,  and  hinted  at  repressed  energy. 

Many  times,  while  watching  them,  he  had 
been  fascinated  by  their  grace,  and  now,  sit 
ting  in  the  saddle,  he  caught  himself  won 
dering  if  the  influence  of  a  bite  were  great 
enough  to  cause  the  person  bitten  to  imitate 
the  snake.  He  laughed  when  this  thought 
struck  him  and  drove  his  spurs  sharply 
against  Mustard's  flanks,  riding  forward 

40 


THE    CABIN   IN    THE   FLAT 

past  the  cottonwood  at  which  he  had  been 
staring. 

"Hell!"  he  ejaculated,  as  he  passed  the 
tree,  "what  a  fool  notion." 

But  he  could  not  banish  the  "notion" 
from  his  mind,  and  five  minutes  later,  when 
he  tried  again  to  sit  steadily,  he  found  the 
swaying  more  pronounced.  The  saddle 
seemed  to  rock  with  him,  and  even  by  jam 
ming  his  uninjured  foot  tightly  into  the  ox 
bow  stirrup  he  could  not  stop  swaying. 

"Mebbe  I  won't  get  very  far/'  he  said, 
realizing  that  the  poison  had  entered  his 
system,  and  that  presently  it  would  riot  in 
his  veins,  "but  I'm  goin'  on  until  I  stop. 
I  wouldn't  want  that  damned  rattler  to 
know  that  he'd  made  me  quit  so  soon." 

He  urged  Mustard  to  a  faster  pace,  even 
while  realizing  that  speed  was  hopeless.  He 
could  never  reach  the  Two  Diamond.  Con 
vinced  of  this,  he  halted  the  pony  again, 
swaying  in  the  saddle  and  holding,  for  the 
first  time,  to  the  pommel  in  an  effort  to 
steady  himself.  But  he  still  swayed.  He 
laughed  mockingly. 

41 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  he 
said,  addressing  the  silence.  "You  might 
think  I  was  plum  tenderfoot  an'  didn't  know 
how  to  ride  a  horse  proper." 

He  urged  the  pony  onward  again,  and 
for  some  little  time  rode  with  bowed  head, 
trying  to  keep  himself  steady  by  watching 
the  trail.  He  rode  through  a  little  clear 
ing,  w^here  the  grass  was  matted  and  some 
naked  rocks  reared  aloft.  Near  a  clump  of 
sage-brush  he  saw  a  sudden  movement — a 
rattler  trying  to  slip  away  unnoticed.  But 
the  snake  slid  into  Ferguson's  vision  and 
with  a  sneer  of  hate  he  drew  one  of  his 
weapons  and  whipped  it  over  his  head,  its 
roar  awakening  echoes  in  the  wood.  Twice, 
three  times,  the  crashing  report  sounded. 
But  the  rattler  whisked  away  and  disap 
peared  into  the  grass — apparently  unin 
jured. 

For  an  instant  Ferguson  scowled.  Then 
a  grin  of  mockery  reached  his  flushed  face. 

"I  reckon  I'm  done,"  he  said.  "Can't 
even  hit  a  rattler  no  more,  an'  him  a  brother 
or  sister  of  that  other  one."  A  delirious 


THE    CABIN   IN    THE   FLAT 

light  flashed  suddenly  in  his  eyes,  and  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  dismounting.  "I'll 
cert'nly  smash  you  some!"  he  said,  speak 
ing  to  the  snake — which  he  could  no  longer 
see.  "I  ain't  goin'  to  let  no  snake  bite  me 
an'  get  away  with  it!" 

But  he  now  smiled  guiltily,  embarrass 
ment  shining  in  his  eyes.  "I  reckon  that 
wasn't  the  snake  that  bit  you,  Ferguson," 
he  said.  "The  one  that  bit  you  is  back  on 
the  trail.  He  ain't  goin'  to  die  till  sundown. 
Not  till  sundown,"  he  repeated  mechanic 
ally,  grimly;  "Ferguson  ain't  goin'  to  die 
till  sundown." 

He  rode  on,  giving  no  attention  to  the 
pony  whatever,  but  letting  the  reins  fall 
and  holding  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 
His  face  was  burning  now,  his  hands  were 
twitching,  and  an  unnatural  gleam  had 
come  into  his  eyes. 

"Ferguson  got  hooked  by  a  rattler!"  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  hilarity  in  his  voice. 
"He  run  plum  into  that  reptile;  tried  to 
walk  on  him  with  a  bare  foot."  The  laugh 
was  checked  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  and 

43 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

a  grim  quality  entered  his  voice.    "But  Fer- ' 
guson    wasn't    no    tenderfoot — he    didn't 
scare  none.    He  went  right  on,  not  sayin' 
anything.     You  see,  he  was  reckonin'  to 
be  man's  size." 

He  rode  on  a  little  way,  and  as  he  entered 
another  clearing  a  rational  gleam  came  into 
his  eyes.  "I'm  still  a-goin'  it,"  he  mut 
tered. 

A  shadow  darkened  the  trail;  he  heard 
Mustard  whinny.  He  became  aware  of  a 
cabin  in  front  of  him;  heard  an  exclama 
tion  ;  saw  dimly  the  slight  figure  of  a  woman^ 
sitting  on  a  small  porch;  as  through  a  mist, 
he  saw  her  rise  and  approach  him,  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  looking  at  him. 

He  smiled,  bowing  low  to  her  over  hi$ 
pony's  mane. 

"I  shot  him,  ma'am,"  he  said  gravely, 
"but  he  ain't  goin'  to  die  till  sundown." 

As  from  some  great  distance  a  voice 
seemed  to  come  to  him.  "Mercy!"  it  said. 
"What  is  wrong?  Who  is  shot?" 

"Why,  the  snake,  ma'am,"  he  returned 
thickly.  He  slid  down  from  his  pony  and 

44 


THE   CABIN   IN   THE   FLAT 

staggered  to  the  edge  of  the  porch,  leaning 
against  one  of  the  slender  posts  and  hang 
ing  dizzily  on.  "You  see,  ma'am,  that 
damned  rattler  got  Ferguson.  But  Fergu 
son  ain't  reckonin'  on  dyin'  till  sundown. 
He  couldn't  let  no  snake  get  the  best  of 
him." 

He  saw  the  woman  start  toward  him,  felt 
her  hands  on  his  arms,  helping  him  upon  the 
porch.  Then  he  felt  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  felt  them  pressing  him  down.  He 
felt  dimly  that  there  was  a  chair  under  him, 
and  he  sank  into  it,  leaning  back  and  stretch 
ing  himself  out  full  length.  A  figure  flitted 
before  him  and  presently  there  was  a  sharp 
pain  in  his  foot.  He  started  out  of  the 
chair,  and  was  abruptly  shoved  back  into  it. 
Then  the  figure  leaned  over  him,  prying  his 
jaws  apart  with  some  metal  like  object  and 
pouring  something  down  his  throat.  He 
choked  as  he  swallowed,  vainly  trying  to 
brush  away  the  object. 

"You're  a  hell  of  a  snake,"  he  said  sav 
agely.  Then  the  world  blurred  dizzily,  and 
he  drifted  into  oblivion. 

45 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  "DIFFERENT  GIRL" 

FERGUSON  had  no  means  of  know 
ing  how  long  he  was  unconscious, 
but  when  he  awoke  the  sun  had  gone 
down  and  the  darkening  shadows  had  stolen 
into  the  clearing  near  the  cabin.  He  still 
sat  in  the  chair  on  the  porch.  He  tried  to 
lift  his  injured  foot  and  found  to  his  sur 
prise  that  some  weight  seemed  to  be  on  it. 
He  struggled  to  an  erect  position,  looking 
down.  His  foot  had  been  bandaged,  and 
the  weight  that  he  had  thought  was  upon  it 
was  not  a  weight  at  all,  but  the  hands  of  a 
young  woman. 

She  sat  on  the  porch  floor,  the  injured 
foot  in  her  lap,  and  she  had  just  finished 
bandaging  it.  Beside  her  on  the  porch  floor 

46 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIRL" 

was  a  small  black  medicine  case,  a  sponge, 
some  yards  of  white  cloth,  and  a  tin  wash 
basin  partly  filled  with  water. 

He  had  a  hazy  recollection  of  the  young 
woman ;  he  knew  it  must  have  been  she  that 
he  had  seen  when  he  had  ridden  up  to  the 
porch.  He  also  had  a  slight  remembrance 
of  having  spoken  to  her,  but  what  the  words 
were  he  could  not  recall.  He  stretched  him 
self  painfully.  The  foot  pained  frightfully, 
and  his  face  felt  hot  and  feverish;  he  was 
woefully  weak  and  his  nerves  were  tingling 
— but  he  was  alive. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  his  movement.  Her 
lips  opened  and  she  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

"You  are  to  be  very  quiet,"  she  ad 
monished. 

He  smiled  weakly  and  obeyed  her,  leaning 
back,  his  gaze  on  the  slate-blue  of  the  sky. 
She  still  worked  at  the  foot,  fastening  the 
bandage;  he  could  feel  her  fingers  as  they 
passed  lightly  over  it.  He  did  not  move, 
feeling  a  deep  contentment. 

Presently  she  arose,  placed  the  foot  gen 
tly  down,  and  entered  the  house.  With 

47 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

closed  eyes  he  lay  in  the  chair,  listening  to 
her  step  as  she  walked  about  in  the  house. 
He  lay  there  a  long  time,  and  when  he 
opened  his  eyes  again  he  knew  that  he  must 
have  been  asleep,  for  the  night  had  come  and 
a  big  yellow  moon  was  rising  over  a  rim  of 
distant  hills.  Turning  his  head  slightly,  he 
saw  the  interior  of  one  of  the  rooms  of  the 
cabin — the  kitchen,  for  he  saw  a  stove  and 
some  kettles  and  pans  hanging  on  the  wall 
and  near  the  window  a  table,  over  which 
was  spread  a  cloth.  A  small  kerosene  lamp 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  table,  its  rays 
glimmering  weakly  through  the  window.  He 
raised  one  hand  and  passed  it  over  his  fore 
head.  There  was  still  some  fever,  but  he  felt 
decidedly  better  than  when  he  had  awakened 
the  first  time. 

Presently  he  heard  a  light  step  and  be 
came  aware  of  some  one  standing  near  him. 
He  knew  it  was  the  girl,  even  before  she 
spoke,  for  he  had  caught  the  rustle  of  her 
dress. 

"Are  you  awake,"  she  questioned. 

"LWhy,  yes,  ma'am,"  he  returned.  He 
48 


A    "DIFFERENT  ?  GIRL" 

turned  to  look  at  her,  but  in  the  darkness 
he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"Do  you  feel  like  eating  anything?"  she 
asked. 

He  grinned  ruefully  in  the  darkness.  "I 
couldn't  say  that  I'm  exactly  yearnin'  for 
grub,"  he  returned,  "though  I  ain't  done  any; 
eatin'  since  mornin'.  I  reckon  a  rattler's 
bite  ain't  considered  to  help  a  man's  appetite 
any." 

He  heard  her  laugh  softly.  "No,"  she  re 
turned;  "I  wouldn't  recommend  it." 

He  tried  again  to  see  her,  but  could  not, 
and  so  he  relaxed  and  turned  his  gaze  on  the 
sky.  But  presently  he  felt  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  then  her  voice,  as  she  spoke 
firmly. 

"You  can't  lie  here  all  night,"  she  said. 
"You  would  be  worse  in  the  morning.  And 
it  is  impossible  for  you  to  travel  to-night. 
I  am  going  to  help  you  to  get  into  the  house. 
[You  can  lean  your  weight  on  my  shoulder." 

He  struggled  to  an  erect  position  and 
made  out  her  slender  figure  in  the  dim  light 
from  the  window.  He  would  have  been 

49 


THE   TWO-GUN  "MAN 

afraid  of  crushing  her  could  he  have  been 
induced  to  accept  her  advice.  He  got  to  his 
uninjured  foot  and  began  to  hop  toward  the 
door,  but  she  was  beside  him  instantly  pro 
testing. 

"Stop!"  she  commanded  firmly.  "If  you 
do  that  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  Put 
your  hand  on  my  shoulder!"  / 

In  the  darkness  he  could  see  her  eyes  flash 
with  determination,  and  so  without  further 
objection  he  placed  a  hand  lightly  on  her 
shoulder,  and  in  this  manner  they  made  their 
way  through  the  door  and  into  the  cabin. 
Once  inside  the  door  he  halted,  blinking  at 
the  light  and  undecided.  But  she  promptly 
led  him  toward  another  door,  into  a  room 
containing  a  bed.  She  led  him  to  the  bed 
side  and  stood  near  him  after  he  had  sunk 
down  upon  it. 

"You  are  to  sleep  here  to-night,"  she  said. 
"To-morrow,  if  you  are  considerably  better, 
I  may  allow  you  to  travel."  She  went  out, 
returning  immediately  with  a  small  bottle 
containing  medicine.  "If  you  feel  worse 
during  the  night,"  she  directed,  "you  must 

50 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIRL" 

take  a  spoonful  from  that  bottle.  If  you 
think  you  need  anything  else,  don't  hesitate 
to  call.  I  shall  be  in  the  next  room." 

He  started  to  voice  his  thanks,  but  she 
cut  him  short  with  a  laugh.  "Good-night," 
she  said.  Then  she  went  out  and  closed  the 
door  after  her. 

He  awoke  several  times  during  the  night 
and  each  time  took  a  taste  of  the  medicine  in 
the  bottle.  But  shortly  after  midnight  he 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  from  which  he  did 
not  awaken  until  the  dawn  had  come.  He 
lay  quiet  for  a  long  time,  until  he  heard 
steps  in  the  kitchen,  and  then  he  rose  and 
went  to  the  door,  throwing  it  open  and 
standing  on  the  threshold. 

She  was  standing  near  the  table,  a  coffee 
pot  in  her  hand.  Her  eyes  widened  as  she 
saw  him. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  yery; 
much  better!" 

He  smiled.  "I'm  thankin'  you  for  it, 
ma'am,"  he  returned.  "I  cert'nly  wouldn't 
have  been  feelin'  anything  if  I  hadn't  met 
you  when  I  did." 

51 


THE    TWO-GUN    MAN 

She  put  the  coffee  pot  down  and  looked 
gravely  at  him. 

"You  were  in  very  bad  shape  when  you 
came,"  she  admitted.  "There  was  a  time 
when  I  thought  my  remedies  would  not  pull 
you  through.  They  would  not  had  you  come 
five  minutes  later." 

He  had  no  reply  to  make  to  this,  and  he 
stood  there  silent,  until  she  poured  coffee 
into  a  cup,  arranged  some  dishes,  and  then 
invited  him  to  sit  at  the  table. 

He  needed  no  second  invitation,  for  he 
had  been  twenty-four  hours  without  food. 
And  he  had  little  excuse  to  complain  of  the 
quality  of  the  food  that  was  set  before  him. 
He  ate  in  silence  and  when  he  had  finished 
he  turned  away  from  the  table  to  see  the 
girl  dragging  a  rocking  chair  out  upon  the 
porch.  She  returned  immediately,  smiling 
at  him. 

"Your  chair  is  ready,"  she  said.  "I  think 
you  had  better  not  exert  yourself  very  much 
to-day." 

"Why,  ma'am,"  he  expostulated,  "I'm 
feelin'  right  well.  I  reckon  I  could  be; 

52 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIRL" 

travelin'  now.     I  ain't  used  to  bein'  babied 
this  way." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  being  'babied,' ' 
she  returned  a  trifle  coldly.    "I  don't  think 
that  I  would  waste  any  time  with  anyone  if ' 
I  thought  it  wasn't  necessary.    I  am  merely 
telling  you  to  remain  for  your  own  good. 
Of  course,  if  you  wish  to  disregard  my  ad- 
yice  you  may  do  so." 

He  smiled  with  a  frank  embarrassment 
and  limped  toward  the  door.  "Why, 
ma'am,"  he  said  regretfully  as  he  reached  the 
door,  "I  cert'nly  don't  want  to  do  anything 
which  you  think  ain't  right,  after  what 
you've  done  for  me.  I  don't  want  to  be 
little  you,  an'  I  think  that  when  I  said  that 
I  might  have  been  gassin'  a  little.  But  I 
thought  mebbe  I'd  been  enough  trouble  al 
ready." 

It  was  not  entirely  the  confession  itself, 
but  the  self-accusing  tone  in  which  it  had 
been  uttered  that  brought  a  smile  to  her 
face. 

"All  the  same,"  she  said,  "you  are  to  do 
AS  I  tell  you." 

63 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

He  smiled  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair  on 
the  porch.  It  was  an  odd  experience  for 
him.  Never  before  in  his  life  had  anyone 
adopted  toward  him  an  air  of  even  partial 
proprietorship.  He  had  been  accustomed  to 
having  people — always  men — meet  him 
upon  a  basis  of  equality,  and  if  a  man  had 
adopted  toward  him  the  tone  that  she  had 
employed  there  would  have  been  an  instant 
severing  of  diplomatic  relations  and  a  be 
ginning  of  hostilities. 

But  this  situation  was  odd — a  woman  had 
ordered  him  to  do  a  certain  thing  and  hev 
was  obeying,  realizing  that  in  doing  so  he 
was  violating  a  principle,  though  conscious 
of  a  strange  satisfaction.  He  knew  that  he 
had  promised  the  Two  Diamond  manager, 
and  he  was  convinced  that,  in  spite  of  the 
pain  in  his  foot,  he  was  well  enough  to  ride. 
But  he  was  not  going  to  ride ;  her  command 
had  settled  that. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  in  the  chair,  looking 
out  over  a  great  stretch  of  flat  country  which 
was  rimmed  on  three  sides  by  a  fringe  of 
low  hills,  and  behind  him  by  the  cottonwood. 

5* 


A    "DIFFERENT   GIRL" 

The  sun  had  been  up  long;  it  was  swimming 
above  the  rim  of  distant  hills — a  ball  of 
molten  silver  in  a  shimmering  white  blur. 
The  cabin  was  set  squarely  in  the  center  of  a 
big  clearing,  and  about  an  eighth  of  a 
mile  behind  him  was  a  river — the  river  that 
he  had  been  following  when  he  had  been 
bitten  by  the  rattler. 

He  knew  from  the  location  of  the  cabin 
that  he  had  not  gone  very  far  out  of  his 
way ;  that  a  ride  of  an  eighth  of  a  mile  would 
bring  him  to  the  Two  Diamond  trail.  And 
he  could  not  be  very  far  from  the  Two  Dia 
mond.  Yet  because  of  an  order,  issued  by  a 
girl,  he  was  doomed  to  delay  his  appearance 
at  the  ranch. 

He  had  seen  no  man  about  the  cabin.  Did 
the  girl  live  here  alone?  He  was  convinced 
that  no  woman  could  long  survive  the  soli 
tude  of  this  great  waste  of  country — some 
man — a  brother  or  a  husband — must  share 
the  cabin  with  her.  Several  times  he  caught 
himself  hoping  that  if  there  was  a  man  here 
it  might  be  a  brother,  or  even  a  distant  rela 
tive.  The  thought  that  she  might  have  a 

55 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

husband  aroused  in  him  a  sensation  of  vague 
disquiet. 

He  heard  her  moving  about  in  the  cabin, 
heard  the  rattle  of  dishes,  the  swish  of  a 
broom  on  the  rough  floor.  And  then  pres 
ently  she  came  out,  dragging  another  rocker. 
Then  she  re-entered  the  cabin,  returning 
with  a  strip  of  striped  cloth  and  a  sewing 
basket.  She  seated  herself  in  the  chair, 
placed  the  basket  in  her  lap,  and  with  a  half 
smile  on  her  face  began  to  ply  the  needle. 
He  lay  back  contentedly  and  watched  her. 

Hers  was  a  lithe,  vigorous  figure  in  a 
white  apron  and  a  checkered  dress  of  some 
soft  material.  She  wore  no  collar;  her 
sleeves  were  shoved  up  above  the  elbows,  re 
vealing  a  pair  of  slightly  browned  hands 
and  white,  rounded  arms.  Her  eyes  were 
brown  as  her  hair — the  latter  in  a  tumble  of 
graceful  disorder.  Through  half  closed  eyes 
he  was  appraising  her  in  a  riot  of  admira 
tion  that  threatened  completely  to  bias  his 
judgment.  And  yet  women  had  interested 
him  very  little. 

Perhaps  that  was  because  he  had  never 
56 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIEL" 

seen  a  woman  like  this  one.  The  women 
that  he  had  known  had  been  those  of  the 
plains-town — the  unfortunates  who  through 
circumstances  or  inclination  had  been  drawn 
into  the  maelstrom  of  cow-country  vice,  and 
who,  while  they  may  have  found  flattery, 
were  never  objects  of  honest  admiration  or 
respect. 

He  had  known  this  young  woman  only  a 
few  hours,  and  yet  he  knew  that  with  her 
he  could  not  adopt  the  easy,  matter-of-fact 
intimacy  that  had  answered  with  the  other 
women  he  had  known.  In  fact,  the  desire  to 
look  upon  her  in  this  light  never  entered  his 
mind.  Instead,  he  was  filled  with  a  deep  ad 
miration  for  her — an  admiration  in  which 
there  was  a  profound  respect. 

"I  expect  you  must  know  your  business, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  after  watching  her  for  a 
few  minutes.  "An5  I'm  mighty  glad  that  you 
do.  Most  women  would  have  been  pretty 
nearly  flustered  over  a  snake  bite." 

"Why,"  she  returned,  without  looking  up, 
but  exhibiting  a  little  embarrassment,  which 
betrayed  itself  in  a  slight  flush,  "I  really 

57 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

think  that  I  was  a  little  excited — especially 
when  you  came  riding  up  to  the  porch." 
She  thought  of  his  words,  when,  looking  at 
her  accusingly,  he  had  told  her  that  she  was 
"a  hell  of  a  snake,"  and  the  flush  grew,  suf 
fusing  her  face.  This  of  course  he  had  not 
known  and  never  would  know,  but  the  words 
had  caused  her  many  smiles  during  the 
night. 

"You  didn't  show  it  much,"  he  observed. 
"You  must  have  took  right  a-hold.  Some 
women  would  have  gone  clean  off  the  han 
dle.  They  wouldn't  have  been  able  to  do 
anything." 

Her  lips  twitched,  but  she  still  gave  her 
attention  to  her  sewing,  treating  his  talk 
with  a  mild  interest. 

" There  is  nothing  about  a  snake  bite  to 
become  excited  over.  That  is,  if  treatment 
is  applied  in  time.  In  your  case  the  tourni 
quet  kept  the  poison  from  getting  very  far 
into  your  system.  If  you  hadn't  thought  of 
that  it  might  have  gone  very  hard  with  you." 

"That  rope  around  my  leg  wouldn't  have 
done  me  a  bit  of  good  though,  ma'am,  if  I 

63 


A    "DIFFERENT   GIRL" 

hadn't  stumbled  onto  your  cabin.     I  don't 
know  when  seein'  a  woman  has  pleased  me 


more." 


She  smiled  enigmatically,  her  eyelashes 
flickering  slightly.  But  she  did  not  answer. 

Until  noon  she  sewed,  and  he  lay  lazily 
back  in  the  chair,  watching  her  sometimes, 
sometimes  looking  at  the  country  around 
him.  They  talked  very  little.  Once,  when 
he  had  been  looking  at  her  for  a  long  time, 
she  suddenly  raised  her  eyes  and  they  met 
his  fairly.  Both  smiled,  but  he  saw  a  blush 
mantle  her  cheeks. 

At  noon  she  rose  and  entered  the  cabin. 
A  little  later  she  called  to  him,  telling  him 
that  dinner  was  ready.  He  washed  from 
the  tin  basin  that  stood  on  the  bench  just 
outside  the  door,  and  entering  sat  at  the 
table  and  ate  heartily. 

After  dinner  he  did  not  see  her  again  for 
a  time,  and  becoming  wearied  of  the  chair 
he  set  out  on  a  short  excursion  to  ,the  river. 
When  he  returned  she  was  seated  on  the 
porch  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a  demure 
smile. 

59 


1  THE   TWO-GUN  'MAN 

"You  will  be  quite  active  by  to-morrow," 
she  said. 

"I  ain't  feelin'  exactly  lazy  now,"  he  re 
turned,  showing  a  surprising  agility  in 
reaching  his  chair.  \  V 

When  the  sun  began  to  swim  low  over  the 
hills,  he  looked  at  her  with  a  curiously  grim 
smile. 

"I  reckon  that  rattler  was  fooled  last 
night,"  he  said.  "But  if  f  oolin'  him  had  been 
left  to  me  I  expect  I'd  have  made  a  bad  job 
of  it.  But  I'm  thinkin'  that  he  done  his 
little  old  dyin'  when  the  sun  went  down  last 
night.  An'  I'm  still  here.  An'  I'll  keep 
right  on,  usin'  his  brothers  an'  sisters  for 
targets — when  I  think  that  I'm  needin' 
practice." 
"  "Then  you  killed  the  snake?" 

"Why  sure,  ma'am.  I  wasn't  figgerin'  to 
let  that  rattler  go  a-f  annin'  right  on  to  hook 
someone  else.  That'd  be  encouragin'  his 
trade." 

She  laughed,  evidently  pleased  over  his 
earnestness.  "Oh,  I  see,"  she  said.  "Then 
you  were  not  angry  merely  because  he  bit 

60 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIRL" 

you?  You  killed  him  to  keep  him  from  at 
tacking  other  persons?" 

He  smiled.  "I  sure  was  some  angry,"  he 
returned.  "An'  I  reckon  that  just  at  the 
time  I  wasn't  thinkin'  much  about  other 
people.  I  was  havin'  plenty  to  keep  me 
busy." 

"But  you  killed  him.    How?" 

"Why  I  shot  him,  ma'am.  Was  you 
thinkin'  that  I  beat  him  to  death  with  some- 
thin'?" 

Her  lips  twitched  again,  the  corners  turn 
ing  suggestively  inward.  But  now  he  caught 
her  looking  at  his  guns.  She  looked  from 
them  to  his  face.  "All  cowboys  do  not  carry 
two  guns,"  she  said  suddenly. 

He  looked  gravely  at  her.  "Well,  no, 
ma'am,  they  don't.  There's  some  that  claim 
carryin'  two  guns  is  clumsy.  But  there's 
been  times  when  I  found  them  right  con 
venient." 

She  fell  silent  now,  regarding  her  sewing. 
A  quizzical  smile  had  reached  his  face.  This 
exchange  of  talk  had  developed  the  fact  that 
she  was  a  stranger  to  the  country.  No 

61 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

Western  girl  would  have  made  her  remark 
about  the  guns. 

He  did  not  know  whether  or  not  he  was 
pleased  over  the  discovery.  Certain  subtle 
signs  about  her  had  warned  him  in  the  be 
ginning  that  she  was  different  from  the  other 
women  of  his  acquaintance,  but  he  had  not 
thought  of  her  being  a  stranger  here,  of  her 
coming  here  from  some  other  section  of  the 
country — the  East,  for  instance. 

Her  being  from  the  East  would  account 
for  many  things.  First,  it  wTould  make  plain 
to  him  why  she  had  smiled  several  times  dur 
ing  their  talks,  over  things  in  which  he  had 
been  able  to  see  no  humor.  Then  it  would 
answer  the  question  that  had  formed  in  his 
mind  concerning  the  fluency  of  her  speech. 
Western  girls  that  he  had  met  had  not  at 
tained  that  ease  and  poise  which  he  saw  was 
hers  so  naturally.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  ac 
complishment  she  was  none  the  less  a  woman 
— demure  eyed,  ready  to  blush  and  become 
confused  as  easily  as  a  Western  woman. 
Assured  of  this,  he  dropped  the  slight  con 
straint  which  up  till  now  had  been  plain  in 

62 


rA    "DIFFERENT    GIRL" 

his  voice,  and  an  inward  humor  seemed  to 
draw  the  corners  of  his  mouth  slightly  down 
ward. 

"I  reckon  that  folks  where  you  come  from 
don't  wear  guns  at  all,  ma'am,"  he  said 
slowly. 

She  looked  up  quickly,  surprised  into 
meeting  his  gaze  fairly.  His  eyes  did  not 
waver.  She  rocked  vigorously,  showing 
some  embarrassment  and  giving  undue  at 
tention  to  her  sewing. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  she  ques 
tioned,  raising  her  head  and  looking  at  him 
with  suddenly  defiant  eyes.  "I  am  not 
aware  that  I  told  you  that  I  was  a  stranger 
here!  Don't  you  think  you  are  guessing 
now?" 

His  eyes  narrowed  cunningly.  "I  don't 
think  I  need  to  do  any  guessin',  ma'am,"  he 
returned.  "When  a  man  sees  a  different 
girl,  he  don't  have  to  guess  none." 

The  "different"  girl  was  regarding  him 
with  furtive  glances,  plainly  embarrassed 
under  his  direct  words.  But  there  was  much 
defiance  in  her  eyes,  as  though  she  was  aware 

63 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

of  the  trend  of  his  words  and  was  determined 
to  outwit  him. 

"I  think  you  must  be  a  remarkable  man," 
she  said,  with  the  faintest  trace  of  mockery 
in  her  voice,  "to  be  able  to  discover  such  a 
thing  so  quickly.  Or  perhaps  it  is  the  at 
mosphere — it  is  marvelous." 

"I  expect  it  ain't  exactly  marvelous,"  he 
returned,  laboring  with  the  last  word. 
"When  a  girl  acts  different,  a  man  is  pretty 
apt  to  know  it."  He  leaned  forward  a  little, 
speaking  earnestly.  "I  know  that  I'm  talk- 
in'  pretty  plain  to  you,  ma'am,"  he  went  on. 
"But  when  a  man  has  been  bit  by  a  rattler 
an'  has  sort  of  give  up  hope  an'  has  had  his 
life  saved  by  a  girl,  he's  to  be  excused  if  he 
feels  that  he's  some  acquainted  with  the  girl. 
An'  then  when  he  finds  that  she's  some  dif 
ferent  from  the  girls  he's  been  used  to  seein', 
I  don't  see  why  he  hadn't  ought  to  take  a  lot 
of  interest  in  her." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  drooping. 
[And  then,  her  eyes  dancing  as  they  shot  a 
swift  glance  at  him — "I  should  call  that  a 
pretty  speech." 

64. 


A    "DIFFERENT    GIEL" 

He  reddened  with  embarrassment.  "I  ex 
pect  you  are  laughin'  at  me  now,  ma'am," 
he  said.  "But  I  wasn't  thinkin'  to  make  any 
pretty  speeches.  I  was  tellin'  you  the 
truth." 

She  soberly  plied  her  needle,  and  he  sat 
back,  watching  her. 

"I  expect  you  are  a  stranger  around  herq 
yourself,"  she  said  presently,  her  eyes  cov 
ered  with  drooping  lashes.  "How  do  you 
know  that  you  have  any  right  to  sit  there 
and  tell  me  that  you  take  an  interest  in  me? 
How  do  you  know  that  I  am  not  married?" 

He  was  not  disconcerted.  He  drawled 
slightly  over  his  words  when  he  answered. 

"You  wouldn't  listen  at  me  at  all,  ma'am ; 
you  cert'nly  wouldn't  stay  an'  listen  to  any 
speeches  that  you  thought  was  pretty,  if  you 
was  married,"  he  said.  Plainly,  he  had  not 
lost  faith  in  the  virtue  of  woman. 

"But  if  I  did  listen?"  she  questioned,  her 
face  crimson,  though  her  eyes  were  still  de 
fiant. 

He  regarded  her  with  pleased  eyes.    "I  Ve 
been  lookin'  for  a  weddin'  ring,"  he  said. 
65 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

She  gave  it  up  in  confusion.  "I  don't 
know  why  I  am  talking  this  way  to  you," 
she  said.  "I  expect  it  is  because  there  isn't 
anything  else  to  do.  But  you  really  are  en 
tertaining!"  she  declared,  for  a  parting  shot. 

Once  Ferguson  had  seen  a  band  of  travel 
ing  minstrels  in  Cimarron.  Their  jokes  (of 
an  ancient  vintage)  had  taken  well  with  the 
audience,  for  the  latter  had  laughed.  Fer 
guson  remembered  that  a  stranger  had  said 
that  the  minstrels  were  "entertaining."  And 
now  he  was  entertaining  her.  A  shadow 
passed  over  his  face;  he  looked  down  at  his 
foot,  with  its  white  bandage  so  much  in  evi 
dence.  Then  straight  at  her,  his  eyes  grave 
and  steady. 

"I'm  glad  to  have  amused  you,  ma'am," 
he  said.  "An'  now  I  reckon  I'll  be  gettin* 
over  to  the  Two  Diamond.  It  can't  be  very 
far  now." 

"Five  miles,"  she  said  shortly.  She  had 
dropped  her  sewing  into  her  lap  and  sat 
motionless,  regarding  him  with  level  eyes. 

"Are  you  working  for  the  Two  Dia 
mond?"  she  questioned. 

66 


A  "DIFFERENT  GIRL" 

"Lookin'  for  a  job,"  he  returned. 

"Ohl"  The  exclamation  struck  him  as 
rather  expressionless.  He  looked  at  her. 

"Do  you  know  the  Two  Diamond  folks?" 

"Of  course." 

"Of  course,"  he  repeated,  aware  of  the 
constraint  in  her  voice.  "I  ought  to  have 
known.  They're  neighbors  of  your'n." 

"They  are  not!"  she  suddenly  flashed 
back  at  him. 

"Well,  now,"  he  returned  slowly,  puzzled, 
but  knowing  that  somehow  he  was  getting 
things  wrong,  "I  reckon  there's  a  lot  that  I 
don't  know." 

"If  you  are  going  to  work  over  at  the  Two 
Diamond,"  she  said  coldly,  "you  will  know 
more  than  you  do  now.  My " 

Evidently  she  was  about  to  say  something 
more,  but  a  sound  caught  her  ear  and  she 
rose,  dropping  her  sewing  to  the  chair. 

"My  brother  is  coming,"  she  said  quietly. 

Standing  near  the  door  she  caught  Fer 
guson's  swift  glance. 

"Then  it  ain't  a  husband  after  all,"  he 
said,  pretending  surprise. 

67 


CHAPTER  YJ 

THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 

A  YOUNG  man  rode  around  the  corner 
of  the  cabin  and  halted  his  pony 
beside  the  porch,  sitting  quietly  in 
the  saddle  and  gazing  inquiringly  at  the 
two.  He  was  about  Ferguson's  age  and, 
like  the  latter,  he  wore  two  heavy  guns. 
There  was  about  him,  as  he  sat  there  sweep 
ing  a  slow  glance  over  the  girl  and  the  man, 
a  certain  atmosphere  of  deliberate  certainty 
and  quiet  coldness  that  gave  an  impression 
of  readiness  for  whatever  might  occur. 

Ferguson's  eyes  lighted  with  satisfaction. 
The  girl  might  be  an  Easterner,  but  the 
young  man  was  plainly  at  home  in  this 
country.  Nowhere,  except  in  the  West, 
could  he  have  acquired  the  serene  calm  that 

68 


THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 

shone  out  of  his  eyes;  in  no  other  part  of 
the  world  could  he  have  caught  the  easy  as 
surance,  the  unstudied  nonchalance,  that 
seems  the  inherent  birthright  of  the  cow- 
puncher. 

"Ben,"  said  the  girl,  answering  the  young 
man's  glance,  "this  man  was  bitten  by  a 
rattler.  He  came  here,  and  I  treated  him. 
He  says  he  was  on  his  way  over  to  the  Two 
Diamond,  for  a  job." 

The  young  man  opened  his  lips  slightly. 
"Stafford  hire  you?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  hopin'  he  does,"  returned  Ferguson. 

The  young  man's  lips  drooped  sneeringly. 
"I  reckon  you're  wantin'  a  job  mighty  bad," 
he  said. 

Ferguson  smiled.  "Takin'  your  talk,  you 
an'  Stafford  ain't  very  good  friends,"  he  re 
turned. 

The  young  man  did  not  answer.  He  dis 
mounted  and  led  his  pony  to  a  small  corral 
and  then  returned  to  the  porch,  carrying  his 
saddle. 

For  an  instant  after  the  young  man  had 
left  the  porch  to  turn  his  pony  into  the  cor- 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

ral  Ferguson  had  kept  his  seat  on  the  porch. 
But  something  in  the  young  man's  tone 
had  brought  him  out  of  the  chair,  de 
termined  to  accept  no  more  of  his  hospi 
tality.  If  the  young  man  was  no  friend  of 
Stafford,  it  followed  that  he  could  not  feel 
well  disposed  to  a  puncher  who  had  avowed 
that  his  purpose  was  to  work  for  the  Two 
Diamond  manager. 

Ferguson  was  on  his  feet,  clinging  to  one 
of  the  slender  porch  posts,  preparatory  to 
stepping  down  to  go  to  his  pony,  when  the 
young  woman  came  out.  Her  sharp  ex 
clamation  halted  him. 

"You're  not  going  now!"  she  said.  "You 
have  got  to  remain  perfectly  quiet  until 
morning!" 

The  brother  dropped  his  saddle  to  the 
porch  floor,  grinning  mildly  at  Ferguson, 
"You  don't  need  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  he  said. 
"I  was  intending  to  run  your  horse  into  the 
corral.  What  I  meant  about  Stafford  don't 
apply  to  you."  He  looked  up  at  his  sister, 
still  grinning.  "I  reckon  he  ain't  got  noth 
ing  to  do  with  it?" 

70 


THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 

The  young  woman  blushed.  "I  hope 
not,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"We're  goin'  to  eat  pretty  soon,"  said  the 
young  man.  "I  reckon  that  rattler  didn't 
take  your  appetite?" 

Ferguson  flushed.  "It  was  plum  re- 
diculous,  me  bein'  hooked  by  a  rattler,"  he 
said.  "An'  I've  lived  among  them  so  long." 

"I  reckon  you  let  him  get  away?"  ques 
tioned  the  young  man  evenly. 

"If  he's  got  away,"  returned  Ferguson, 
his  lips  straightening  with  satisfaction,  "he's 
a  right  smart  snake." 

He  related  the  incident  of  the  attack,  end 
ing  with  praises  of  the  young  woman's  skill. 

The  young  man  smiled  at  the  reference  to 
his  sister.  "She's  studied  medicine — back 
East.  Lately  she's  turned  her  hand  to  writ- 
in'.  Come  out  here  to  get  experience — local 
color,  she  calls  it." 

Ferguson  sat  back  in  his  chair,  quietly 
digesting  this  bit  of  information.  Medicine 
and  writing.  What  did  she  write?  Love 
stories?  Fairy  tales?  Romances?  He  had 
read  several  of  these.  Mostly  they  were  ab- 

71 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

surd  and  impossible.  Love  stories,  he 
thought,  would  be  easy  for  her.  For — he 
said,  mentally  estimating  her — a  woman 
ought  to  know  more  about  love  than  a  man. 
1  And  as  for  anything  being  impossible  in  a 
love  story.  Why  most  anything  could  hap 
pen  to  people  who  are  in  love. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  he  heard  her  announce 
from  within. 

Ferguson  preceded  the  young  man  at  the 
tin  wash  basin,  taking  a  fresh  towel  that  the 
young  woman  offered  him  from  the  door 
way.  Then  he  followed  the  young  man  in 
side.  The  three  took  places  at  the  table,  and 
Ferguson  was  helped  to  a  frugal,  though 
wholesome  meal. 

The  dusk  had  begun  to  fall  while  they 
were  yet  at  the  table,  and  the  young  woman 
arose,  lighting  a  kerosene  lamp  and  placing 
it  on  the  table.  By  the  time  they  had  finished 
semi-darkness  had  settled.  Ferguson  fol 
lowed  the  young  man  out  to  the  chairs  on 
the  porch  for  a  smoke. 

They  were  scarcely  seated  when  there  was 
a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  a  pony  and  rider  came 

73 


THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 

out  of  the  shadow  of  the  nearby  cotton- 
wood,  approaching  the  cabin  and  halting  be 
side  the  porch.  The  newcomer  was  a  man  of 
about  thirty-five.  The  light  of  the  kerosene 
lamp  shone  fairly  in  his  face  as  he  sat  in  the 
saddle,  showing  a  pair  of  cold,  steady  eyes 
and  thin,  straight  lips  that  were  wreathed 
in  a  smile. 

"I  thought  I'd  ride  over  for  a  smoke  an' 
a  talk  before  goin'  down  the  crick  to  where 
the  outfit's  workm',"  he  said  to  the  young 
man.  And  now  his  eyes  swept  Ferguson's 
lank  figure  with  a  searching  glance.  "But  I 
didn't  know  you  was  havin'  company,"  he 
added.  The  second  glance  that  he  threw 
toward  Ferguson  was  not  friendly. 

Ferguson's  lips  curled  slightly  under  it. 
Each  man  had  been  measured  by  the  other, 
and  neither  had  found  in  the  other  anything 
to  admire. 

Ferguson's  thoughts  went  rapidly  back  to 
Dry  Bottom.  He  saw  a  man  in  the  street, 
putting  five  bullets  through  a  can  that  he 
had  thrown  into  the  air.  He  saw  again  the 
man's  face  as  he  had  completed  his  exhi- 

73 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

bition — insolent,  filled  with  a  sneering 
triumph.  He  heard  again  this  man's  voice, 
as  he  himself  had  offered  to  eclipse  his 
feat:— 

"You  runnin'  sheep,  stranger?" 

The  voice  and  face  of  the  man  who  stood 
before  him  now  were  the  voice  and  face  of 
the  man  who  had  preceded  him  in  the  shoot 
ing  match  in  Dry  Bottom.  His  thoughts 
were  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  his  host, 
explaining  his  presence. 

"This  here  man  was  bit  by  a  rattler  this 
afternoon,"  the  young  man  was  saying. 
"He's  layin'  up  here  for  to-night.  Says  he's 
reckonin'  on  gettin'  a  job  over  at  the  Two 
Diamond." 

The  man  on  the  horse  sneered.  "Hell!" 
he  said;  "bit  by  a  rattler!"  He  laughed  in 
solently,  pulling  his  pony's  head  around.  "I 
reckon  I'll  be  goin',"  he  said.  "You'll  nurse 
him  so's  he  won't  die?"  He  had  struck  the 
pony's  flanks  with  the  spurs  and  was  gone 
into  the  shadows  before  either  man  on  the 
porch  could  move.  There  was  a  short  si 
lence,  while  the  two  men  listened  to  the  beat 

74 


THE  MAN  OF  DRY  BOTTOM 

of  his  pony's  hoofs.  Then  Ferguson  turned 
and  spoke  to  the  young  man. 

"You  know  him?"    he  questioned. 

The  young  man  smiled  coldly.  "Yep," 
he  said;  "he's  range  boss  for  the  Two  Dia 
mond!" 


75 


CHAPTER  VI 

rAT  THE  TWO  DIAMOND 

AS  Ferguson  rode  through  the  pure 
sunshine  of  the  morning  his  thoughts 
kept  going  back  to  the  little  cabin 
in  the  flat— "Bear  Flat,"  she  had  caUed  it. 
Certain    things    troubled    him — he,    whose 
mind  had  been   always  untroubled — even 
through  three  months  of  idleness  that  had 
not  been  exactly  attractive. 

"She's  cert'nly  got  nice  eyes,"  he  told  him 
self  confidentially,  as  he  lingered  slowly  on 
his  way;  "an*  she  knows  how  to  use  them. 
She  sure  made  me  seem  some  breathless. 
An'  no  girl  has  ever  done  that.  An5  her  hair 
is  like" — he  pondered  long  over  this — "like 
— why,  I  reckon  I  didn't  just  ever  see  any 
thing  like  it.  An'  the  way  she  looked  at 
meP 

76 


AT   THE    TWO   DIAMOND 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "So  she's  a 
writer — an'  she's  studied  medicine.  I  reckon 
I'd  like  it  a  heap  better  if  she  didn't  monkey 
with  none  of  them  fool  things.  What  busi 
ness  has  a  girl  got  to "  He  suddenly 

laughed  aloud.  "Why  I  reckon  I'm  pretty 
near  loco,"  he  said,  "to  be  ravin'  about  a  girl 
like  this.  She  ain't  nothin*  to  me;  she  just 
done  what  any  other  girl  would  do  if  a  man 
come  to  her  place  bit  by  a  rattler." 

He  spurred  his  pony  forward  at  a  sharp 
lope.  And  now  he  found  that  his  thoughts 
would  go  back  to  the  moment  of  his  depart 
ure  from  the  cabin  that  morning.  She  had 
accompanied  him  to  the  door,  after  bandag 
ing  the  ankle.  Her  brother  had  gone  away 
an  hour  before. 

"I'm  thankin'  you,  ma'am,"  Ferguson  said 
as  he  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  door.  "I 
reckon  I'd  have  had  a  bad  time  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you." 

"It  was  nothing,"  she  returned. 

He  had  hesitated— he  stiU  felt  the  thrill 
of  doubt  that  had  assailed  him  before  he  had 
taken  the  step  that  he  knew  was  impertinent. 

77 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"I'll  be  ridin'  over  here  again,  some  day,  if 
you  don't  mind,"  he  said. 

Her  face  reddened  a  trifle.  "I'm  sure 
brother  would  like  to  have  you,"  she  replied. 

"I  don't  remember  to  have  said  that  I  was 
comin'  over  to  see  your  brother,"  was  his 
reply. 

"But  it  would  have  to  be  he,"  she  said, 
looking  straight  at  him.  "You  couldn't 
come  to  see  me  unless  I  asked  you." 

And  now  he  had  spoken  a  certain  word 
that  had  been  troubling  him.  "Do  you 
reckon  that  Two  Diamond  range  boss  comes 
over  to  see  your  brother?" 

She  frowned.  "Of  course!"  she  replied. 
"He  is  my  brother's  friend.  But  I — I  de 
spise  him!" 

Ferguson  grinned  broadly.  "Well,  now," 
he  said,  unable  to  keep  his  pleasure  over  her 
evident  dislike  of  the  Two  Diamond  man 
from  showing  in  his  eyes  and  voice,  "that's 
cert'nly  too  bad.  An'  to  think  he's  wastin' 
his  time — ridin'  over  here." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  steady,  unwaver 
ing  eyes.  He  could  still  remember  the  chal- 

78 


AT   THE    TWO   DIAMOND 

lenge  in  them.  "Be  careful  that  you  don't 
waste  your  time !"  was  her  answer. 

"I  reckon  I  won't,"  was  his  reply,  as  he 
climbed  into  the  saddle.  "But  I  won't  be 
comin'  over  here  to  see  your  brother!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  said,  "I  call  that  very 
brazen !" 

But  when  he  had  spurred  his  pony  down 
through  the  crossing  of  the  river  he  had 
turned  to  glance  back  at  her.  And  he  had 
seen  a  smile  on  her  face.  As  he  rode  now 
he  went  over  this  conversation  many  times, 
much  pleased  with  his  own  boldness;  more 
pleased  because  she  had  not  seemed  angry 
with  him. 

It  was  late  in  the  morning  when  he  caught 
sight  of  the  Two  Diamond  ranch  buildings, 
scattered  over  a  great  basin  through  which 
the  river  flowed.  Half  an  hour  later  he 
rode  up  to  the  ranchhouse  and  met  Stafford 
at  the  door  of  the  office.  The  manager 
waved  him  inside. 

"I'm  two  days  late,"  said  Ferguson,  after 
he  had  taken  a  chair  in  the  office.  He  re 
lated  to  Stafford  the  attack  by  the  rattler. 

79 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

The  latter  showed  some  concern  over  the  in 
jury. 

"I  reckon  you  didn't  do  your  own  doctor- 
in'?"  he  asked. 

Ferguson  told  him  of  the  girl.  The  man 
ager's  lips  straightened.  A  grim  humor 
shone  from  his  eyes. 

"You  stayed  there  over  night?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"I  reckon  I  stayed  there.  It  was  in  a 
cabin  down  at  a  place  which  I  heard  the  girl 
say  was  called  'Bear  Flat.'  I  didn't  ketch 
the  name  of  the  man." 

Stafford  grinned  coldly.  "I  reckon  they 
didn't  know  what  you  was  comin'  over  here 
for?" 

"I  didn't  advertise,"  returned  Ferguson 
(quietly. 

"If  you  had,"  declared  Stafford,  his  eyes 
glinting  with  a  cold  amusement,  "you  would 
have  found  things  plum  lively.  The  man's 
name  is  Ben  Radford.  He's  the  man  I'm 
hirin'  you  to  put  out  of  business  1" 

For  all  Stafford  could  see  Ferguson  did 
not  move  a  muscle.  Yet  the  news  had 

80 


rAT   THE    TWO   DIAMOND 

shocked  him ;  he  could  feel  the  blood  surging 
rapidly  through  his  veins.  But  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face  was  inscrutable. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said,  "that  sure  would 
have  made  things  interestin'.  An'  so  that's 
the  man  you  think  has  been  stealin'  your 
cattle?"  He  looked  steadily  at  the  manager. 
"But  I  told  you  before  that  I  wasn't  doin' 
any  shootin'." 

"Correct,"  agreed  the  manager.  "What 
I  want  you  to  do  is  to  prove  that  Radf  ord's 
the  man.  We  can't  do  anything  until  we 

prove  that  he's  been  rustlin'.  An'  then " 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"You  reckon  to  know  the  girl's  name 
too?"  inquired  Ferguson. 

"It's  Mary,"  stated  the  manager.  "I've 
heard  Leviatt  talk  about  her." 

Ferguson  contemplated  the  manager 
gravely.  "An'  you  ain't  sure  that  Radf  ord's 
stealin'  your  cattle?" 

Stafford  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "I'm 
takin'  Dave  Leviatt's  word  for  it,"  he  said. 

"Who's  Leviatt?"  queried  Ferguson. 

"My  range  boss,"  returned  Stafford. 
81 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"He's  been  ridin'  sign  on  Radford  an'  says 
he's  responsible  for  all  the  stock  that  we've 
been  missin'  in  the  last  six  months." 

Ferguson  rolled  a  cigarette.  He  lighted 
it  and  puffed  for  a  moment  in  silence,  the 
manager  watching  him. 

"Back  at  Dry  Bottom,"  said  Ferguson 
presently,  "there  was  a  man  shootin'  at  a 
can  when  I  struck  town.  He  put  five  bullets 
through  the  can.  Was  that  your  range 
boss?" 

Stafford  smiled.  "That  was  Leviatt — my 
range  boss,"  he  returned.  "We  went  over 
to  Dry  Bottom  to  get  a  gunfighter.  We 
wanted  a  man  who  could  shoot  plum  quick. 
He'd  have  to  be  quick,  for  Radford's  light- 
nin'  with  a  six.  Leviatt  said  shootin'  at  a 
can  would  be  a  good  way  to  find  a  man  who 
could  take  Radford's  measure — in  case  it 
was  necessary,"  he  added  quickly. 

Ferguson's  face  was  a  mask  of  immobility. 
"Where's  Leviatt  now?"  he  questioned. 

"Up  the  Ute  with  the  outfit." 

"How  far  up?" 

"Thirty  miles." 

82 


rAT  THE  TWO  DIAMOND 

Ferguson's  eyelashes  flickered.  "Has 
Leviatt  been  here  lately?"  he  questioned. 

"Not  since  the  day  before  yesterday." 

"When  you  expectin'  him  back?" 

"The  boys'll  be  comin'  back  in  a  week. 
He'll  likely  come  along  with  them." 

"U — um.  You're  giving  me  a  free 
hand?" 

"Of  course." 

Ferguson  lounged  to  the  door.  "I'm 
lookin'  around  a  little,"  he  said,  "to  kind  of 
size  up  things.  I  don't  want  you  to  put  me 
with  the  outfit.  That  strike  you  right?" 

"I'm  hirin'  you  to  do  a  certain  thing," 
returned  Stafford.  "I  ain't  tellin'  you  how 
it  ought  to  be  done.  You've  got  till  the  fall 
roundup  to  do  it." 

Ferguson  nodded.  He  went  to  the  corral 
fence,  unhitched  his  pony,  and  rode  out  on 
the  plains  toward  the  river.  Stafford 
watched  him  until  he  was  a  mere  dot  on  the 
horizon.  Then  he  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

"I  kind  of  like  that  guy,"  he  said,  com 
menting  mentally.  "There  ain't  no  show 
work  to  him,  but  he's  business." 

83 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MEASURE  OF  A  MAN 

DURING  the  week  following  Fergu 
son's  arrival  at  the  Two  Diamond 
ranch   Stafford  saw  very  little  of 
him.     Mornings   saw  him  proceed  to  the 
corral,  catch  up  his  pony,  mount,  and  de 
part.    He  returned  with  the  dusk.    Several 
times,  from  his  office  window,  Stafford  had 
seen  him  ride  away  in  the  moonlight. 

Ferguson  did  his  own  cooking,  for  the 
cook  had  accompanied  the  wagon  outfit 
down  the  river.  Stafford  did  not  seek  out 
the  new  man  with  instructions  or  advice ;  the 
work  Ferguson  was  engaged  in  he  must  do 
alone,  for  if  complications  should  happen  to 
arise  it  was  the  manager's  business  to  know 
nothing. 

84 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

The  Two  Diamond  ranch  was  not  unlike 
many  others  that  dotted  the  grass  plains  of 
the  Territory.  The  interminable  miles  that 
separated  Stafford  from  the  nearest,  did  not 
prevent  him  from  referring  to  that  par 
ticular  owner  as  "neighbor",  for  distances 
were  thus  determined — and  distances  thus 
determined  were  nearly  always  inaccurate. 
The  traveler  inquiring  for  his  destination 
was  expected  to  discover  it  somewhere  in  the 
unknown  distance. 

The  Two  Diamond  ranch  had  the  envi 
able  reputation  of  being  "slick" — which 
meant  that  Stafford  was  industrious  and 
thrifty  and  that  his  ranch  bore  an  appear 
ance  of  unusual  neatness.  For  example, 
Stafford  believed  in  the  science  of  irrigation. 
A  fence  skirted  his  buildings,  another  ran 
around  a  large  area  of  good  grass,  forming 
a  pasture  for  his  horses.  His  buildings  were 
attractive,  even  though  rough,  for  they  re 
vealed  evidence  of  continued  care.  His 
ranchhouse  boasted  a  sloped  roof  and  paved 
galleries. 

A  garden  in  the  rear  was  but  another  in- 
85 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

stance  of  Stafford's  industry.  He  had  cattle 
that  were  given  extraordinary  care  because 
they  were  "milkers,"  for  in  his  youth  Staf 
ford  had  lived  on  a  farm  and  he  remembered 
days  when  his  father  had  sent  him  out  into 
the  meadow  to  drive  the  cows  home  for  the 
milking.  There  were  many  other  things 
that  Stafford  had  not  forgotten,  for  chickens 
scratched  promiscuously  about  the  ranch 
yard,  occasionally  trespassing  into  the  sacred 
precincts  of  the  garden  and  the  flower  beds. 
His  horses  were  properly  stabled  during  the 
cold,  raw  days  that  came  inevitably ;  his  men 
had  little  to  complain  of,  and  there  was  a 
general  atmosphere  of  prosperity  over  the 
entire  ranch. 

But  of  late  there  had  been  little  content 
ment  for  the  Two  Diamond  manager.  For 
six  months  cattle  thieves  had  been  at  work 
on  his  stock.  The  result  of  the  spring 
round-up  had  been  far  from  satisfactory. 
He  knew  of  the  existence  of  nesters  in  the 
vicinity;  one  of  them — Radford — he  had 
suspected  upon  evidence  submitted  by  the 
range  boss.  Radford  had  been  warned  to  va- 

86 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

cate  Bear  Flat,  but  the  warning  had  been 
disregarded. 

But  one  other  course  was  left,  and  Staf 
ford  had  adopted  that.  There  had  been  no 
hesitancy  on  the  manager's  part;  he  must 
protect  the  TWTO  Diamond  property.  Senti 
ment  had  no  place  in  the  situation  whatever. 
Therefore  toward  Ferguson's  movements 
Stafford  adopted  an  air  of  studied  indiffer 
ence,  not  doubting,  from  what  he  had  seen 
of  the  man,  that  he  would  eventually  ride  in 
and  report  that  the  work  which  he  had  been 
hired  to  do  was  finished. 

Toward  the  latter  end  of  the  week  the 
wagon  outfit  straggled  in.  They  came  in 
singly,  in  twos  and  threes,  bronzed,  hardy, 
seasoned  young  men,  taciturn,  serene  eyed, 
capable.  They  continued  to  come  until 
there  were  twenty-seven  of  them.  Later  in 
the  day  came  the  wagon  and  the  remuda. 

From  a  period  of  calm  and  inaction  the 
ranch  now  awoke  to  life  and  movement. 
The  bunkhouse  was  scrubbed; — "swabbed" 
in  the  vernacular  of  the  cowboys;  the  scant 
bedding  was  "cured"  in  the  white  sunlight; 

87 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

and  the  cook  was  adjured  to  extend  himself 
in  the  preparation  of  "chuck"  (meaning 
food)  to  repay  the  men  for  the  lack  of  good 
things  during  a  fortnight  on  the  open  range 
with  the  wagon. 

At  dusk  on  the  first  day  in  Rope  Jones,  a 
tall,  lithe  young  puncher,  whose  spare  mo 
ments  were  passed  in  breaking  the  wild 
horses  that  occasionally  found  their  way  to 
the  Two  Diamond,  was  oiling  his  saddle 
leathers.  Sitting  on  a  bench  outside  the 
bunkhouse  he  became  aware  of  Stafford 
standing  near. 

"Leviatt  come  in?"  queried  the  manager. 

The  puncher  grinned.  "Nope.  Last  I 
seen  of  Dave  he  was  hittin'  the  breeze  to 
ward  Bear  Flat.  Said  he'd  be  in  later."  He 
lowered  his  voice  significantly.  "Reckon 
that  Radford  girl  is  botherin'  Dave  a  heap." 

Stafford  smiled  coldly  and  was  about  to 
answer  when  he  saw  Ferguson  dropping 
from  his  pony  at  the  corral  gate.  Follow 
ing  Stafford's  gaze,  Rope  also  observed  Fer 
guson.  He  looked  up  at  Stafford. 

"New  man?"  he  questioned, 
88 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

Stafford  nodded.  He  had  invented  a 
plausible  story  for  the  presence  of  Fer 
guson.  Sooner  or  later  the  boys  would 
have  noticed  the  latter's  absence  from  the 
outfit.  Therefore  if  he  advanced  his  story 
now  there  would  be  less  conjecture  later. 

"You  boys  have  got  enough  to  do,"  he 
said,  still  watching  Ferguson.  "I've  hired 
this  man  to  look  up  strays.  I  reckon  he  c'n 
put  in  a  heap  of  time  at  it." 

Rope  shot  a  swift  glance  upward  at  the 
manager's  back.  Then  he  grinned  furtively. 

"Two-gun,"  he  observed  quietly;  "with 
the  bottoms  of  his  holsters  tied  down.  I 
reckon  your  stray-man  ain't  for  to  be 
monkeyed  with." 

But  Stafford  had  told  his  story  and  knew 
that  within  a  very  little  time  Rope  would  be 
telling  it  to  the  other  men.  So  without  an 
swering  he  walked  toward  the  ranchhouse. 
Before  he  reached  it  he  saw  Leviatt  unsad 
dling  at  the  corral  gate. 

When  Ferguson,  with  his  saddle  on  his 
shoulder,  on  his  way  to  place  it  on  its  accus 
tomed  peg  in  the  lean-to  adjoining  the  bunk- 

89 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

house,  passed  Rope,  it  was  by  the  merest  ac 
cident  that  one  of  the  stirrups  caught  the 
cinch  buckle  of  Rope's  saddle.  Not  observ 
ing  the  tangle,  Ferguson  continued  on  his 
way.  He  halted  when  he  felt  the  stirrup 
strap  drag,  turning  half  around  to  see  what 
was  wrong.  He  smiled  broadly  at  Rope. 

"You  reckon  them  saddles  are  ac 
quainted?"  he  said. 

Rope  deftly  untangled  them.  "I  ain't 
thinkin'  they're  relations,"  he  returned,  grin 
ning  up  at  Ferguson.  "Leastways  I  never 
knowed  a  'double  cinch'  an'  a  'center  fire'  to 
git  real  chummy." 

"I  reckon  you're  right,"  returned  Fer 
guson,  his  eyes  gleaming  cordially;  "an'  I've 
knowed  men  to  lose  their  tempers  discussin' 
whether  a  center  fire  or  a  double  cinch  was 
the  most  satisfyin'." 

"Some  men  is  plum  fools,"  returned 
Rope,  surveying  Ferguson  with  narrowr, 
pleased  eyes.  "You  didn't  observe  that  the 
saddles  rode  any  easier  after  the  argument 
than  before?" 

"I  didn't  observe.  But  mebbe  the  men 
90 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

was  more  satisfied.  Let  a  man  argue  that 
somethin'  he's  got  is  better'n  somethin'  that 
another  fellow's  got  an'  he  falls  right  in  love 
with  his  own — an'  goes  right  on  fallin'  in 
love  with  it.  Nothin'  c'n  ever  change  his 
mind  after  an  argument." 

"I  know  a  man  who's  been  studyin'  human 
nature,"  observed  Rope,  grinning. 

"An'  not  wastin'  his  time  arguin'  fool 
questions,"  added  Ferguson. 

"You  sure  ain't  plum  greenhorn,"  de 
clared  Rope  admiringly. 

"Thank  yu',"  smiled  Ferguson;  "I  wasn't 
lookin'  to  see  whether  you'd  cut  your  eye- 
teeth  either." 

"Well,  now,"  remarked  Rope,  rising  and 
shouldering  his  saddle,  "you've  almost  con 
vinced  me  that  a  double  cinch  ain't  a  bad 
saddle.  Seems  to  make  a  man  plum  good 
humored." 

"When  a  man's  hungry  an'  right  close  to 
the  place  where  he's  goin'  to  feed,"  said  Fer 
guson  gravely,  "he  hadn't  ought  to  bother 
his  head  about  nothin'." 

"You're  settin'  at  my  right  hand  at  the 
91 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

table,"  remarked  Rope,  delighted  with  his 
new  friend. 

Several  of  the  men  were  already  at  the 
washtrough  when  Rope  and  Ferguson 
reached  there.  The  method  by  which  they 
performed  their  ablutions  was  not  delicate, 
but  it  was  thorough.  And  when  the  dust 
had  been  removed  their  faces  shone  with  the 
dusky  health-bloom  that  told  of  their  hard, 
healthy  method  of  living.  Men  of  various 
ages  were  there — grizzled  riders  who  saw 
the  world  through  the  introspective  eye  of 
experience;  young  men  with  their  en 
thusiasms,  their  impulses;  middle-aged  men 
who  had  seen  much  of  life — enough  to  be 
able  to  face  the  future  with  unshaken  com 
placence;  but  all  bronzed,  clear-eyed,  self- 
reliant,  unafraid. 

When  Ferguson  and  Rope  entered  the 
bunkhouse  many  of  the  men  were  already 
seated.  Ferguson  and  Rope  took  places  at 
one  end  of  the  long  table  and  began  eating. 
No  niceties  of  the  conventions  were  observed 
here;  the  men  ate  each  according  to  his 
whim  and  were  immune  from  criticism, 

93 


THE   MEASURE    OF   A    MAN 

Table  etiquette  was  a  thing  that  would  have 
spoiled  their  joy  of  eating.  Theirs  was  a 
primitive  country;  their  occupation  primi 
tive  ;  their  manner  of  living  no  less  so.  They 
concerned  themselves  very  little  with  the 
customs  of  a  world  of  which  they  heard  very 
little. 

Nor  did  they  bolt  their  food  silently- — as 
has  been  recorded  of  them  by  men  who  knew 
them  little.  If  they  did  eat  rapidly  it  was 
because  the  ravening  hunger  of  a  healthy 
stomach  demanded  instant  attention.  And 
they  did  not  overeat.  Epicurus  would  have 
marveled  at  the  simplicity  of  their  food. 
Conversation  was  mingled  with  every 
mouthful. 

At  one  end  of  the  table  sat  an  empty 
plate,  with  no  man  on  the  bench  before  it. 
This  was  the  place  reserved  for  Leviatt,  the 
range  boss.  Next  to  this  place  on  the  right 
was  seated  a  goodlooking  young  puncher, 
whose  age  might  have  been  estimated  at 
twenty-three.  "Skinny"  they  called  him  be 
cause  of  his  exceeding  slenderness.  At  the 
moment  Ferguson  settled  into  his  seat  the 
93 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

young  man  was  filling  the  room  with  rapid 
talk.  This  talk  had  been  inconsequential  and 
concerned  only  those  small  details  about 
which  we  bother  during  our  leisure.  But 
now  his  talk  veered  and  he  was  suddenly 
telling  something  that  gave  promise  of  con- 
secutiveness  and  universal  interest.  Other 
voices  died  away  as  his  arose. 

"Leviatt  ain't  the  only  one,"  he  was  say 
ing.  "She  ain't  made  no  exception  with 
any  of  the  outfit.  To  my  knowin'  there's 
been  Lon  Dexter,  Soapy,  Clem  Miller, 
Lazy,  Wrinkles — an'  myself,"  he  admitted, 
reddening,  "been  notified  that  we  was 
mavericks  an'  needed  our  ears  marked.  An' 
now  comes  Leviatt  a-f  annin'  right  on  to  get 
his'n.  An'  I  reckon  he'll  get  it." 

"You  ain't  tellin'  what  she  said  when  she 
give  you  your'n,"  said  a  voice. 

There  was  a  laugh,  through  which  the 
youth  emerged  smiling  broadly. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  ain't  tellin'.     But  she 

told   Soapy  here  that  she  was  lookin'  for 

local  color.    Wanted  to  know  if  he  was  it. 

Since  then  Soapy 's  been  using  a  right  smart 

94 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

lot  of  soap,  tryin'  to  rub  some  color  into  his 
face." 

Color  was  in  Soapy 's  face  now.  He  sat 
directly  opposite  the  slender  youth  and  his 
cheeks  were  crimson. 

"I  reckon  if  you'd  keep  to  the  truth " 

he  began.  But  Skinny  has  passed  on  to  the 
next. 

"An'  there's  Dexter.  Lon's  been  awful 
quiet  since  she  told  him  he  had  a  picturesque 
name.  Said  it'd  do  for  to  put  into  a  book 
which  she's  goin'  to  write,  but  when  it  come 
to  choosin'  a  husband  she'd  prefer  to  tie  up 
to  a  commoner  name.  An'  so  Lon  didn't 
graze  on  that  range  no  more." 

"This  country's  goin'  plum  to " 

sneered  Dexter.  But  a  laugh  silenced  him. 
And  the  youth  continued. 

"It  might  have  been  fixed  up  for  Lazy," 
he  went  on,  "only  when  she  found  out  his 
name  was  Lazy,  she  wanted  to  know  right 
off  if  he  could  support  a  wife — providin'  he 
got  one.  He  said  he  reckoned  he  could,  an' 
she  told  him  he  could  experiment  on  some 
other  woman.  An'  now  Lazy '11  have  to  look 

95 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

around  quite  a  spell  before  he'll  get  another 
chancst.  I'd  call  that  bein'  in  mighty  poor 
luck." 

Lazy  was  giving  his  undivided  attention 
to  his  plate. 

"An*  she  come  right  out  an'  told  Wrinkles 
he  was  too  old;  that  when  she  was  thinkin' 
of  gettin'  wedded  to  some  old  monolith  she'd 
send  word  to  Egypt,  where  they  keep  'em  in 
stock.  Beats  me  where  she  gets  all  them 
words." 

"Told  me  she'd  studied  her  dictionary," 
said  a  man  who  sat  near  Ferguson. 

The  young  man  grinned.  "Well,  I  swear 
if  I  didn't  come  near  forgettin'  Clem 
Miller!"  he  said.  "If  you  hadn't  spoke  up 
then,  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  have  been  in  on 
this  deal.  An'  so  she  told  you  she'd  studied 
her  dictionary!  Now,  I'd  call  that  news. 
Some  one'd  been  tellin'  me  that  she'd  asked 
you  the  meanin'  of  the  word  'evaporate.' 
An'  when  you  couldn't  tell  her  she  told  you 
to  do  it.  Said  that  when  you  got  home  you 
might  look  up  a  dictionary  an'  then  you'd 
know  what  she  meant. 

96 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

"An'  now  Leviatt's  hangin'  around  over 
there,"  continued  the  youth.  "He's  claim- 
in'  to  be  goin'  to  see  Ben  Radford,  but  I 
reckon  he's  got  the  same  kind  of  sickness  as 
the  rest  of  us." 

"An'  you  ain't  sayin'  a  word  about  what 
she  said  to  you,"  observed  Miller.  "She 
must  have  treated  you  awful  gentle,  seein' 
you  won't  tell." 

"Well,"  returned  the  young  man,  "I  ain't 
layin'  it  all  out  to  you.  But  I'll  tell  you  this 
much ;  she  said  she  was  goin'  to  make  me  one 
of  the  characters  in  that  book  she's  writin'." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Miller,  "that's  sure 
lettin'  you  down  easy.  Did  she  say  what  the 
character  was  goin'  to  be?" 

"I  reckon  she  did." 

"An'  now  you're  goin'  to  tell  us  boys?" 

"An'  now  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  boys,"  re 
turned  Skinny.  "But  I  reckon  there's  a 
drove  of  them  characters  here.  You'll  find 
them  with  every  outfit,  an'  you'll  know  them 
chiefly  by  their  bray  an'  their  long,  hairy 


ears." 


The  young  man  now  smiled  into  his  plate, 
97 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

while  a  chorus  of  laughter  rose  around  him. 
In  making  himself  appear  as  ridiculous  a 
figure  as  the  others,  the  young  man  had  suc 
cessfully  extracted  all  the  sting  from  his 
story  and  gained  the  applause  of  even  those 
at  whom  he  had  struck. 

But  now  a  sound  was  heard  outside,  and 
Leviatt  came  into  the  room.  He  nodded 
shortly  and  took  his  place  at  the  end  of  the 
table.  A  certain  reserve  came  into  the  at 
mosphere  of  the  room.  No  further  reference 
was  made  to  the  subject  that  had  aroused 
laughter,  but  several  of  the  men  snickered 
into  their  plates  over  the  recollection  of 
Leviatt's  connection  with  the  incident. 

As  the  meal  continued  Leviatt's  gaze 
wandered  over  the  table,  resting  finally  upon 
Ferguson.  The  range  boss's  face  darkened. 

Ferguson  had  seen  Leviatt  enter ;  several 
times  during  the  course  of  the  meal  he  felt 
Leviatt  looking  at  him.  Once,  toward  the 
end,  his  glance  met  the  range  boss's  fairly. 
Leviatt's  eyes  glittered  evilly;  Ferguson's 
lips  curled  with  a  slight  contempt. 

And  yet  these  men  had  met  but  twice  be- 
98 


THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

fore.  A  man  meets  another  in  North 
America — in  the  Antipodes.  He  looks  upon 
him,  meets  his  eye,  and  instantly  has  won  a 
friend  or  made  an  enemy.  Perhaps  this  will 
always  be  true  of  men.  Certainly  it  was 
true  of  Ferguson  and  the  range  boss. 

What  force  was  at  work  in  Leviatt  when 
in  Dry  Bottom  he  had  insulted  Ferguson? 
Whatever  the  force,  it  had  told  him  that  the 
steady-eyed,  deliberate  gun-man  was  hence 
forth  to  be  an  enemy.  Enmity,  hatred,  evil 
intent,  shone  out  of  his  eyes  as  they  met 
Ferguson's. 

Beyond  the  slight  curl  of  the  lips  the 
latter  gave  no  indication  of  feeling.  And 
after  the  exchange  of  glances  he  resumed 
eating,  apparently  unaware  of  Leviatt's  ex 
istence. 

Later,  the  men  straggled  from  the  bunk- 
house,  seeking  the  outdoors  to  smoke  and 
talk.  Upon  the  bench  just  outside  the  door 
several  of  the  men  sat ;  others  stood  at  a  little 
distance,  or  lounged  in  the  doorway.  With 
Rope,  Ferguson  had  come  out  and  was 
standing  near  the  door,  talking. 

99 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

The  talk  was  light,  turning  to  trivial  in 
cidents  of  the  day's  work — things  that  are 
the  monotony  of  the  cowboy  life. 

Presently  Leviatt  came  out  and  joined  the 
group.  He  stood  near  Ferguson,  mingling 
his  voice  with  the  others.  For  a  little  time 
the  talk  flowed  easily  and  much  laughter 
rose.  Then  suddenly  above  the  good 
natured  babble  came  a  harsh  word.  Instant 
ly  the  other  voices  ceased,  and  the  men  of 
the  group  centered  their  glances  upon  the 
range  boss,  for  the  harsh  word  had  come 
from  him.  He  had  been  talking  to  a  man 
named  Tucson  and  it  was  to  the  latter  that 
he  had  now  spoken. 

"There's  a  heap  of  rattlers  in  this 
country,"  he  had  said. 

Evidently  the  statement  was  irrelevant, 
for  Tucson's  glance  at  Leviatt's  face  was 
uncomprehending.  But  Leviatt  did  not  wait 
for  an  answer. 

"A  man  might  easily  claim  to  have  been 
bit  by  one  of  them,"  he  continued,  his  voice 
falling  coldly. 

The  men  of  the  group  sat  in  a  tense 
100 


' THE  MEASURE  OF  A   MAN 

silence,  trying  to  penetrate  this  mystery  that 
had  suddenly  silenced  their  talk.  Steady 
eyes  searched  out  each  face  in  an  endeavor 
to  discover  the  man  at  whom  the  range  boss 
was  talking.  They  did  not  discover  him. 
Ferguson  stood  near  Leviatt,  an  arm's 
length  distant,  his  hands  on  his  hips.  Per 
haps  his  eyes  were  more  alert  than  those  of 
the  other  men,  his  lips  in  a  straighter  line. 
But  apparently  he  knew  no  more  of  this 
mystery  than  any  of  the  others. 

And  now  Leviatt's  voice  rose  again,  in 
solent,  carrying  an  unmistakable  personal 
application. 

"Stafford  hires  a  stray-man,"  he  said, 
sneering.  "This  man  claims  to  have  been 
bit  by  a  rattler  an'  lays  up  over  night  in  Ben 
Radford's  cabin — makin'  love  to  Mary  Rad- 
ford." 

Ferguson  turned  his  head  slightly,  sur 
veying  the  range  boss  with  a  cold,  alert  eye. 

"A  little  while  ago,"  he  said  evenly,  "I 

heard  a  man  inside  tellin'  about  some  of  the 

boys  learnin'  their  lessons  from  a  girl  over 

on  Bear  Flat.   I  reckon,  Leviatt,  that  you've 

101 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

been  over  there  to  learn  your'n.    An'  now, 
you've  got  to  let  these  boys  know 1" 

Just  a  rustle  it  was — a  snake-like  motion. 
And  then  Ferguson's  gun  was  out;  its  cold 
muzzle  pressed  deep  into  the  pit  of  Leviatt's/ 
stomach,  and  Ferguson's  left  hand  was  pin" 
ning  Leviatt's  right  to  his  side,  the  range 
boss's  hand  still  wrapped  around  the  butt; 
of  his  half -drawn  weapon.  Then  came  Fer 
guson's  voice  again,  dry,  filled  with  a  quie?/ 
earnestness : 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  you — you're  stil/) 
tenderfoot  with  a  gun.      I  just  wanted  to 
show  these  boys  that  you're  a  false  alarm* 
I  reckon  they  know  that  now." 

Leviatt  sneered.  There  was  a  movement 
behind  Ferguson.  Tucson's  gun  was  halif 
way  out  of  its  holster.  And  then  arose 
Rope's  voice  as  his  weapon  came  out  amft 
menaced  Tucson. 

"Three  in  this  game  would  make  it  odd,, 
Tucson,"  he  said  quietly.  "If  there's  goiri* 
to  be  any  shootin',  let's  have  an  even  break f 
anyway." 

Tucson's  hand  fell  away  from  his  holstetr; 
102 


THE  MEASURE  OF  *A  MAN 

he  stepped  back  toward  the  door,  away  from 
the  range  boss  and  Ferguson. 

Leviatt's  face  had  crimsoned.  "Mebbe  I 
was  runnin'  a  little  bit  wild "  he  began. 

"That's  comin'  down  right  handsome," 
said  Ferguson. 

He  sheathed  his  gun  and  deliberately 
turned  his  back  on  Leviatt.  The  latter  stood 
silent  for  a  moment,  his  face  gradually  pal 
ing.  Then  he  turned  to  where  Tucson  had 
taken  himself  and  with  his  friend  entered 
the  bunkhouse.  In  an  instant  the  old  talk 
arose  and  the  laughter,  but  many  furtive 
glances  swept  Ferguson  as  he  stood,  talking 
quietly  with  Rope. 

The  following  morning  Stafford  came 
upon  Rope  while  the  latter  was  throwing  the 
saddle  on  his  pony  down  at  the  corral  gate. 

"I  heard  something  about  some  trouble 
between  Dave  Leviatt  an'  the  new  stray- 
man,"  said  Stafford.  "I  reckon  it  wasn't 
serious?" 

Rope  turned  a  grave  eye  upon  the  mana 
ger.  "Shucks,"  he  returned,  "I  reckon  it 
wasn't  nothin'  serious.  Only,"  he  continued 
103 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

with  twitching  lips,  "Dave  was  takin'  the 
stray-man's  measure." 

Stafford  smiled  grimly.  "How  did  the 
stray-man  measure  up?"  he  inquired,  a  smile 
working  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "I 
reckon  he  wasn't  none  shy?" 

Rope  grinned,  admiration  glinting  his 
eyes.  "He's  sure  man's  size,"  he  returned, 
giving  his  attention  to  the  saddle  cinch. 


"104 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

DURING  the  few  first  days  of  his  con 
nection  with  the  Two  Diamond  Fer 
guson  had  reached  the  conclusion 
that  he  would  do  well  to  take  plenty  of  time 
to  inquire  into  the  situation  before  attempt 
ing  any  move.  He  had  now  been  at  the 
TWO  Diamond  for  two  weeks  and  he  had  not 
even  seen  Radf  ord.  Nor  had  he  spoken  half 
a  dozen  words  with  Stafford.  The  manager 
had  observed  certain  signs  that  had  con 
vinced  him  that  speech  with  the  stray-man 
was  unnecessary  and  futile.  If  he  purposed 
to  do  anything  he  would  do  it  in  his  own  time 
and  in  his  own  way.  Stafford  mentally  de 
cided  that  the  stray-man  was  "set  in  his 
ways." 

105 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

The  wagon  outfit  had  departed, — this 
time  down  the  river.  Rope  Jones  had  gone 
with  the  wagon,  and  therefore  Ferguson  was 
deprived  of  the  companionship  of  a  man  who 
had  unexpectedly  taken  a  stand  with  him  in 
his  clash  with  Leviatt  and  for  whom  he  had 
conceived  a  great  liking. 

With  the  wagon  had  gone  Leviatt  also. 
During  the  week  that  had  elapsed  between 
the  clash  at  the  bunkhouse  and  the  departure 
of  the  wagon  the  range  boss  had  given  no 
sign  that  he  knew  of  the  existence  of  Fer 
guson.  Nor  had  he  intimated  by  word  or 
sign  that  he  meditated  revenge  upon  Rope 
because  of  the  latter's  championship  of  the 
stray-man.  If  he  had  any  such  intention  he 
concealed  it  with  consummate  skill.  He 
treated  Rope  with  a  politeness  that  drew 
smiles  to  the  faces  of  the  men.  But  Fer 
guson  saw  in  this  politeness  a  subtleness  of 
purpose  that  gave  him  additional  light  on 
the  range  boss's  character.  A  man  who  held 
his  vengeance  at  his  finger  tips  would  have 
taken  pains  to  show  Rope  that  he  might  ex 
pect  no  mercy.  Had  Leviatt  revealed  an 
106 


THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

open  antagonism  to  Rope,  the  latter  might 
have  known  what  to  expect  when  at  last  the 
two  men  would  reach  the  open  range  and 
the  puncher  be  under  the  direct  domination 
of  the  man  he  had  offended. 

There  were  many  ways  in  which  a  petty 
vengeance  might  be  gratified.  It  was  with 
in  the  range  boss's  power  to  make  life  nearly 
unbearable  for  the  puncher.  If  he  did 
this  it  would  of  course  be  an  unworthy 
vengeance,  and  Ferguson  had  little  doubt 
that  any  vengeance  meditated  by  Leviatt 
would  not  be  petty. 

Ferguson  went  his  own  way,  deeply 
thoughtful.  He  was  taking  his  time.  Cer 
tain  things  were  puzzling  him.  Where  did 
Leviatt  stand  in  this  rustling  business  ?  That 
was  part  of  the  mystery.  Stafford  had  told 
him  that  he  had  Leviatt's  word  that  Rad- 
ford  was  the  thief  who  had  been  stealing  the 
Two  Diamond  cattle.  Stafford  had  said 
also  that  it  had  been  Leviatt  who  had  sug 
gested  employing  a  gunfighter — had  even 
gone  to  Dry  Bottom  with  the  manager  for 
the  purpose  of  finding  one.  And  now  that 
107 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

one  had  been  employed  Leviatt  had  become 
suddenly  antagonistic  to  him. 

And  Leviatt  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
the  Radford  cabin.  Of  course  he  might  be 
doing  this  for  the  purpose  of  spying  upon 
Ben  Radford,  but  if  that  were  the  case  why 
had  he  shown  so  venomous  when  he  had  seen 
Ferguson  sitting  on  the  porch  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  day  after  the  latter  had  been 
bitten  by  the  rattler? 

Mary  Radford  had  told  him  that  Leviatt 
was  her  brother's  friend.  If  he  was  a  friend 
of  the  brother  why  had  he  suggested  that 
Stafford  employ  a  gunfighter  to  shoot  him? 
Here  was  more  mystery. 

On  a  day  soon  after  the  departure  of  the 
wagon  outfit  he  rode  away  through  the  af 
ternoon  sunshine.  Not  long  did  his  thoughts 
dwell  upon  the  mystery  of  the  range  boss  and 
Ben  Radford.  He  kept  seeing  a  young 
woman  kneeling  in  front  of  him,  bathing 
and  binding  his  foot.  Scraps  of  a  conversa 
tion  that  he  had  not  forgotten  revolved  in 
mind  and  brought  smiles  to  his  lips. 
She  didn't  need  to  act  so  plum  serious 
108 


THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

when  she  told  me  that  I  didn't  know  that  I 
had  any  right  to  set  there  an'  make  pretty 
speeches  to  her.  .  .  .  She  wouldn't  need 
to  ask  me  to  stay  at  the  cabin  all  night.  I 
could  have  gone  on  to  the  Two  Diamond. 
I  reckon  that  snake  bite  wasn't  so  plum 
dangerous  that  I'd  have  died  if  I'd  have  rode 
a  little  while." 

As  he  came  out  of  a  little  gully  a  few  miles 
up  the  river  and  rode  along  the  crest  of  a 
ridge  that  rose  above  endless  miles  of  plains, 
his  thoughts  went  back  to  that  first  night 
in  the  bunkhouse  when  the  outfit  had  come 
in  from  the  range.  Satisfaction  glinted  in 
his  eyes. 

"I  reckon  them  boys  didn't  make  good 
with  her.  An'  I  expect  that  some  day 
Leviatt  will  find  he's  been  wastin'  his  time." 

He  frowned  at  thought  of  Leviatt  and  un 
consciously  his  spurs  drove  hard  against  the 
pony's  flanks.  The  little  animal  sprang  for 
ward,  tossing  his  head  spiritedly.  Ferguson 
grinned  and  patted  its  flank  with  a  remorse 
ful  hand. 

"Well,  now,  Mustard,"  he  said,  "I  wasn't 
109 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

reckonin'  on  takin'  my  spite  out  on  you.  You 
don't  expect  I  thought  you  was  Leviatt." 
And  he  patted  the  flank  again. 

He  rode  down  the  long  slope  of  the  rise 
and  struck  the  level,  traveling  at  a  slow  lope 
through  a  shallow  washout.  The  ground 
was  broken  and  rocky  here  and  the  snake- 
like  cactus  caught  at  his  stirrup  leathers.  A 
rattler  warned  from  the  shadow  of  some 
sage-brush  and,  remembering  his  previous 
experience,  he  paused  long  enough  to  shoot 
its  head  off. 

"There,"  he  said,  surveying  the  shattered 
snake,  "I  reckon  you  ain't  to  blame  for  me 
bein'  bit  by  your  uncle  or  cousin,  or  some- 
thin',  but  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  be  particular 
when  I  see  one  of  your  family  swingin'  their 
head  that  suggestive." 

He  rode  on  again,  reloading  his  pistol. 
For  a  little  time  he  traveled  at  a  brisk  pace 
and  then  he  halted  to  breathe  Mustard. 
Throwing  one  leg  over  the  pommel,  he 
turned  half  way  around  in  the  saddle  and 
swept  the  plains  with  a  casual  glance. 

He  sat  erect  instantly,  focusing  his  gaze 
110 


THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

upon  a  speck  that  loomed  through  a  dust 
cloud  some  miles  distant.  For  a  time  he 
watched  the  speck,  his  eyes  narrowing.  Fin 
ally  he  made  out  the  speck  to  be  a  man  on  a 
pony. 

"He's  a-fannin'  it  some,"  he  observed, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hands;  "hittin'  up 
the  breeze  for  fair."  He  meditated  long,  a 
critical  smile  reaching  his  lips. 

"It's  right  warm  to-day.  Not  just  the 
kind  of  an  atmosphere  that  a  man  ought  to 
be  runnin'  his  horse  reckless  in."  He  medi 
tated  again. 

"How  far  would  you  say  he's  off,  Mus 
tard  ?  Ten  miles,  I  reckon  you'd  say  if  you 
was  a  knowin'  horse." 

The  horseman  had  reached  a  slight  ridge 
and  for  a  moment  he  appeared  on  the  crest 
of  it,  racing  his  pony  toward  the  river.  Then 
he  suddenly  disappeared. 

Ferguson  smiled  coldly.  Again  his  gaze 
swept  the  plains  and  the  ridges  about  him. 
"I  don't  see  nothin'  that'd  make  a  man  ride 
like  that  in  this  heat,"  he  said.  "Where 
would  he  have  come  from?"  He  stared  ob- 
111 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

liquely  off  at  a  deep  gully  almost  hidden  by 
,.  an  adjoining  ridge. 

"It's  been  pretty  near  an  hour  since  I  shot 
that  snake.  I  didn't  see  no  man  about  that 
time.  If  he  was  around  here  he  must  have 
heard  my  gun — an'  sloped."  He  smiled  and 
urged  his  pony  about.  "I  reckon  we'll  go  look 
around  that  gully  a  little,  Mustard,"  he  said. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  rode  down  into  the 
gully.  After  going  some  little  distance  he 
came  across  a  dead  cow,  lying  close  to  an 
overhanging  rock  rim.  A  bullet  hole  in  the 
cow's  forehead  told  eloquently  of  the  man 
ner  of  her  death. 

Ferguson  dismounted  and  laid  a  hand  on 
her  side.  The  body  was  still  warm.  A 
four-months'  calf  was  nudging  the  mother 
with  an  inquisitive  muzzle.  Ferguson  took 
a  sharp  glance  at  its  ears  and  then  drove  it 
off  to  get  a  look  at  the  brand.  There  was 
none. 

"Sleeper,"  he  said  quietly.  "With  the  Two 

Diamond    ear-mark.      Most   range   bosses 

make  a  mistake  in  not  brandin'  their  calves. 

Seems  as  if  they're  trustin'  to  luck  that 

US 


THE  FINDING  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

rustlers  won't  work  on  them.  I  must  have 
scared  this  one  off." 

He  swung  into  the  saddle,  a  queer  light  in 
his  eyes.  "Mustard,  old  boy,  we're  goin'  to 
Bear  Flat.  Mebbe  Radford's  hangin' 
around  there  now.  An'  mebbe  he  ain't.  But 
we're  goin'  to  see." 

But  he  halted  a  moment  to  bend  a  pitying 
glance  at  the  calf. 

"Poor  little  dogie,"  he  said;  "poor  little 
orphan.  Losin'  your  mother — just  like  a 
human  bein'.  I  call  that  mean  luck." 

Then  he  was  off,  Mustard  swinging  in  a 
steady  lope  down  the  gully  and  up  toward 
the  ridge  that  led  to  the  river  trail. 


113 


CHAPTER  IX 

iWOULD  YOU  BE  A  "CHARACTER"? 

THE  sun  was  still  a  shimmering  white 
blur  in  the  great  arc  of  sky  when 
Ferguson  rode  around  the  corner  of 
the  cabin  in  Bear  Flat,  halted  his  pony, 
and  sat  quietly  in  the  saddle  before  the  door. 
His  rapid  eye  had  already  swept  the  horse 
corral,  the  sheds,  and  the  stable.     If  the 
horseman  that  he  had  seen  riding  along  the 
ridge  had  been  Radf  ord  he  would  not  arrive 
for  quite  a  little  while.    Meantime,  he  would 
learn  from  Miss  Radf  ord  what  direction  the 
young  man  had  taken  on  leaving  the  cabin. 
Ferguson  was  beginning  to  take  an  in 
terest  in  this  game.    At  the  outset  he  had 
come  prepared  co  carry  out  his  contract.  In 
his  code  of  ethics  it  was  not  a  crime  to  shoot 
114 


A  "CHARACTER 


a  rustler.  Experience  had  taught  him  that 
justice  was  to  be  secured  only  through 
drastic  action.  In  the  criminal  category  of 
the  West  the  rustler  took  a  place  beside  the 
horse  thief  and  the  man  who  shot  from  be 
hind. 

But  before  taking  any  action  Ferguson 
must  be  convinced  of  the  guilt  of  the  man 
he  was  hunting,  and  nothing  had  yet  oc 
curred  that  would  lead  him  to  suspect  Rad- 
ford.  Pie  did  not  speculate  on  what  course 
he  would  take  should  circumstances  prove 
Radford  to  be  the  thief.  Would  the  fact 
that  he  was  Mary  Radford's  brother  affect 
his  decision?  He  preferred  to  answer  that 
question  when  the  time  came — if  it  ever 
came.  One  thing  was  certain;  he  was  not 
shooting  anyone  unless  the  provocation  was 
great. 

His  voice  was  purposely  loud  when  he 
called  "Whoa,  Mustard!"  to  his  pony,  but 
his  eyes  were  not  purposely  bright  and  ex 
pectant  as  they  tried  to  penetrate  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  interior  of  the  cabin  for  a 
glimpse  of  Miss  Radford. 
115 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

He  heard  a  movement  presently,  and  she 
was  at  the  door  looking  at  him,  her  hands 
folded  in  her  apron,  her  eyes  wide  with  un 
mistakable  pleasure. 

"Why,  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
again!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  came  out  and  stood  near  the  edge  of 
the  porch,  making  a  determined  attempt  to 
subdue  the  flutter  of  excitement  that  was  re 
vealed  in  a  pair  of  very  bright  eyes  and  a 
tinge  of  deep  color  in  her  cheeks. 

"Then  I  reckon  you  thought  I  had  died, 
or  stampeded  out  of  this  country?"  he  an 
swered,  grinning.  "I  told  you  I'd  be  comin' 
back  here." 

But  the  first  surprise  was  over,  and  she 
very  properly  retired  to  the  shelter  of  a  de 
murely  polite  reserve. 

"So  you  did!"  she  made  reply.  "You  told 
me  you  were  comin'  over  to  see  my  brother. 
But  he  is  not  here  now." 

Had  he  been  less  wise  he  would  have  re 
minded  her  that  it  had  been  she  who  had 
told  him  that  he  might  come  to  see  her 
brother.  But  to  reply  thus  would  have  dis- 
116 


A  "CHARACTER 


comfited  her  and  perhaps  have  brought  a 
sharp  reply.  He  had  no  doubt  that  some 
of  the  other  Two  Diamond  men  had  made 
similar  mistakes,  but  not  he.  He  smiled 
broadly.  "Mebbe  I  did,"  he  said;  "sometimes 
I'm  mighty  careless  in  handlin'  the  truth. 
Mebbe  I  thought  then  that  I'd  come  over  to 
see  your  brother.  But  we  have  different 
thoughts  at  different  times.  You  say  your 
brother  ain't  here  now?" 

"He  left  early  this  morning  to  go  down 
the  river,"  she  informed  him.  "He  said  he 
would  be  back  before  sun-down." 

His  eyes  narrowed  perceptibly.  "Down" 
the  river  meant  that  Radford's  trail  led  in 
the  general  direction  of  the  spot  where  he 
had  seen  the  fleeing  horseman  and  the  dead 
Two  Diamond  cow  with  her  orphaned  calf. 
Yet  this  proved  nothing.  Radford  might 
easily  have  been  miles  away  when  the  deed 
had  been  done.  For  the  present  there  was 
nothing  he  could  do,  except  to  wait  until 
Radford  returned,  to  form  whatever  conclu 
sions  he  might  from  the  young  man's  ap 
pearance  when  he  should  find  a  Two  Dia- 
117 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

mond  man  at  the  cabin.  But  anxiety  to  see 
the  brother  was  not  the  only  reason  that 
would  keep  him  waiting. 

He  removed  his  hat  and  sat  regarding  it 
with  a  speculative  eye.  Miss  Radford 
smiled  knowingly. 

"I  expect  I  have  been  scarcely  polite,"  she 
said.  "Won't  you  get  off  your  horse?" 

"Why,  yes,"  he  responded,  obeying 
promptly;  "I  expect  Mustard's  been 
doin'  a  lot  of  wonderin'  why  I  didn't  get  off 
before." 

If  he  had  meant  to  imply  that  her  invita 
tion  had  been  tardy  he  had  hit  the  mark 
fairly,  for  Miss  Radford  nibbled  her  lips 
with  suppressed  mirth.  The  underplay  of 
meaning  was  not  the  only  subtleness  of  the 
speech,  for  the  tone  in  which  it  had  been 
uttered  was  rich  in  interrogation,  as  though 
its  author,  while  realizing  the  pony's  dim 
ness  of  perception,  half  believed  the  animal 
had  noticed  Miss  Radford's  lapse  of  hospi 
tality. 

"I'm  thinkin'  you  are  laughin'  at  me 
again,  ma'am,"  he  said  as  he  came  to  the 
118 


A  "CHARACTER 


edge  of  the  porch  and  stood  looking  up  at 
her,  grinning. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  laughing?"  she  ques 
tioned,  again  biting  her  lips  to  keep  them 
from  twitching. 

"No-o.  I  wouldn't  say  that  you  was 
laughin'  with  your  lips — laughin'  regular. 
But  there's  a  heap  of  it  inside  of  you — tryin' 
to  get  out." 

"Don't  you  ever  laugh  inwardly?"  she 
questioned. 

He  laughed  frankly.  "I  expect  there's 
times  when  I  do." 

"But  you  haven't  lately?" 

"Well,  no,  I  reckon  not." 
.  "Not  even  when  you  thought  your  horse 
might  have  noticed  that  I  had  neglected  to 
invite  you  off  ?" 

"Did  I  think  that?"  he  questioned. 

"Of  course  you  did." 

"Well,  now,"  he  drawled.  "An'  so  you 
took  that  much  interest  in  what  I  was  think- 
in'!  I  reckon  people  who  write  must  know 
a  lot." 

Her    face    expressed    absolute    surprise. 
119 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"Why,  who  told  you  that  I  wrote?"  She 
questioned. 

"Nobody  told  me,  ma'am.  I  just  heard 
it.  I  heard  a  man  tell  another  man  that  you 
had  threatened  to  make  him  a  character  in  a 
book  you  was  writinV 

Her  face  was  suddenly  convulsed.  "I 
imagine  I  know  whom  you  mean,"  she  said. 
"A  young  cowboy  from  the  Two  Diamond 
used  to  annoy  me  quite  a  little,  until  one  day 
I  discouraged  him." 

His  smile  grew  broad  at  this  answer.  But 
he  grew  serious  instantly. 

"I  don't  think  there  is  much  to  write  about 
in  this  country,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

"You  don't?  Why,  I  believe  you  are  try 
ing  to  discourage  me!" 

"I  reckon  you  won't  listen  to  me,  ma'am, 
if  you  want  to  write.  I've  heard  that  any 
one  who  writes  is  a  special  kind  of  a  person 
an'  they  just  can't  help  writin' — any  more'n 
I  can  help  comin'  over  here  to  see  your 
brother.  You  see,  they  like  it  a  heap." 

They  both  laughed,  she  because  of  the 
clever  way  in  which  he  had  turned  the  con- 
120 


A  "CHARACTER" 


versation  to  his  advantage ;  he  through  sheer 
delight.  But  she  did  purpose  to  allow  him 
to  dwell  on  the  point  he  had  raised,  so  she 
adroitly  took  up  the  thread  where  he  had 
broken  off  to  apply  his  similitude. 

"Some  of  that  is  true,"  she  returned,  giv 
ing  him  a  look  on  her  own  account;  "espe 
cially  about  a  writer  loving  his  work.  But  I 
don't  think  one  needs  to  be  a  'special'  kind 
of  person.  One  must  be  merely  a  keen  ob 


server." 


He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "I  see 
everything  that  goes  on  around  me,"  he  re 
turned.  "Most  of  the  time  I  can  tell  pretty 
near  what  sort  a  man  is  by  lookin'  at  his 
face  and  watching  the  way  he  moves.  But 
I  reckon  I'd  never  make  a  writer.  Times 
when  I  look  at  this  country — at  a  nice  sun 
set,  for  instance,  or  think  what  a  big  place 
this  country  is — I  feel  like  sayin'  somethin' 
about  it ;  somethin'  inside  of  me  seems  kind 
of  breathless-like — kind  of  scarin'  me.  But 
I  couldn't  write  about  it." 

She  had  felt  it,  too,  and  more  than  once 
had  sat  down  with  her  pencil  to  transcribe 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

her  thoughts.  She  thought  that  it  was  not  ex 
actly  fear,  but  an  overpowering  realization 
of  her  own  atomity ;  a  sort  of  cringing  of  the 
soul  away  from  the  utter  vastness  of  the 
world;  a  growing  consciousness  of  the  un 
limited  bigness  of  things;  an  insight  of  the 
infinite  power  of  God — the  yearning  of  the 
soul  for  understanding  of  the  mysteries  of 
life  and  existence. 

She  could  sympathize  with  him,  for  she 
knew  exactly  how  he  had  felt.  She  turned 
and  looked  toward  the  distant  mountains, 
behind  which  the  sun  was  just  then  swim 
ming — a  great  ball  of  shimmering  gold, 
which  threw  off  an  effulgent  expanse  of 
yellow  light  that  was  slowly  turning  into 
saffron  and  violet  as  it  met  the  shadows  be 
low  the  hills. 

"Whoever  saw  such  colors?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  her  face  transfixed  with  sheer  de 
light. 

"It's  cert'nly  pretty,  ma'am." 

She  clapped  her  hands.  "It  is  magnifi 
cent!"  she  declared  enthusiastically.  She 
came  closer  to  him  and  stretched  an  arm  to- 


A  "CHARACTER" 


ward  the  mountains.  "Look  at  that  saffron 
shade  which  is  just  now  blending  with  the 
streak  of  pearl  striking  the  cleft  between 
those  hills!  See  the  violet  tinge  that  has 
come  into  that  sea  of  orange,  and  the  purple 
haze  touching  the  snow-caps  of  the  moun 
tains.  And  now  the  flaming  red,  the  deep 
yellow,  the  slate  blue;  and  now  that  gauzy 
veil  of  lilac,  rose,  and  amethyst,  fading  and 
dulling  as  the  darker  shadows  rise  from  the 
valleys!" 

Her  flashing  eyes  sought  Ferguson's. 
Twilight  had  suddenly  come. 

"It  is  the  most  beautiful  country  in  the 
world!"  she  said  positively. 

He  was  regarding  her  with  gravely 
humorous  eyes.  "It  cert'nly  is  pretty, 
ma'am,"Jie  returned.  "But  you  can't  make 
a  whole  book  out  of  one  sunset." 

Her  eyes  flashed.  "No,"  she  returned. 
"Nor  can  I  make  a  whole  book  out  of  only 
one  character.  But  I  am  going  to  try  and 
draw  a  word  picture  of  the  West  by  writing 
of  the  things  that  I  see.  And  I  am  going  to 
try  and  have  some  real  characters  in  it.  I 
123 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

shall  try  to  have  them  talk  and  act  natural- 

iy." 

She  smiled  suddenly  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  significant  expression.  "And  the  hero 
will  not  be  an  Easterner — to  swagger 
through  the  pages  of  the  book,  scaring 
people  into  submission  through  the  force  of 
his  compelling  personality.  He  will  be  a 
cowboy  who  will  do  things  after  the  manner 
of  the  country — a  real,  unaffected  care-free 
puncher !" 

"Have  you  got  your  eye  on  such  a  man?" 
he  asked,  assuring  himself  that  he  knew  of 
no  man  who  would  fill  the  requirements  she 
had  named. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  have," 
she  returned,  looking  straight  at  him. 

It  suddenly  burst  upon  him.  His  face 
crimsoned.  He  felt  like  bolting.  But  he 
managed  to  grin,  though  she  could  see  that 
the  grin  was  forced. 

"It's  gettin'  late,  ma'am,"  he  said,  as  he 
turned  toward  his  pony.  "I  reckon  I'll  be 
gettin'  back  to  the  Two  Diamond." 

She  laughed  mockingly  as  he  settled  into 


A  "CHARACTER 


the  saddle.  There  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs 
from  around  the  corner  of  the  cabin. 

"Wait!"  she  commanded.  "Ben  is  com- 
ing!" 

But  there  was  a  rush  of  wind  that  ruffled 
her  apron,  a  clatter,  and  she  could  hear  Mus 
tard's  hoofs  pounding  over  the  matted  mes- 
quite  that  carpeted  the  clearing.  Ferguson 
had  fled. 


195 


CHAPTER  X 

DISAPPEARANCE  OF  THE  ORPHAN 

DURING  the  night  Ferguson  had 
dreamed  dreams.  A  girl  with  fluffy 
brown  hair  and  mocking  eyes  had 
been  the  center  of  many  mental  pictures  that 
had  haunted  him.  He  had  seen  her  seated 
before  him,  rapidly  plying  a  pencil.  Once 
he  imagined  he  had  peered  over  her  shoulder. 
He  had  seen  a  sketch  of  a  puncher,  upon 
which  she  appeared  to  be  working,  repre 
senting  a  man  who  looked  very  like  himself. 
He  could  remember  that  he  had  been  much 
surprised.  Did  writers  draw  the  pictures 
that  appeared  in  their  books? 

This    puncher   was   sitting   in   a   chair; 
one  foot  was  bandaged.  As  he  watched  over 
the  girl's  shoulder  he  saw  the  deft  pencil 
126 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

forming  the  outlines  of  another  figure — a 
girl.  As  this  sketch  developed  he  saw  that 
it  was  to  represent  Miss  Radford  herself. 
It  was  a  clever  pencil  that  the  girl  wielded, 
for  the  scene  was  strikingly  real.  He  even 
caught  subtle  glances  from  her  eyes.  But 
as  he  looked  the  scene  changed  and  the  girl 
stood  at  the  edge  of  the  porch,  her  eyes 
mocking  him.  And  then  to  his  surprise  she 
spoke.  "I  am  going  to  put  you  into  a  book," 
she  said. 

Then  he  knew  why  she  had  tolerated  him. 
He  had  grown  hot  and  embarrassed.  "You 
ain't  goin'  to  put  me  in  any  book,  ma'am," 
he  had  said.  "You  ain't  givin'  me  a  square 
deal.  I  wouldn't  love  no  girl  that  would  put 
me  into  a  book." 

He  had  seen  a  sudden  scorn  in  her  eyes. 
"Love!"  she  said,  her  lips  curling.  "Do  you 
really  believe  that  I  would  allow  a  puncher 
to  make  love  to  me?" 

And  then  the  scene  had  changed  again, 
and  he  was  shooting  the  head  off  a  rattler. 
"I  don't  want  you  to  love  me!"    he  had  de 
clared  to  it.     And  then  while  the  snake 
127 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

writhed  he  saw  another  head  growing  upon 
it,  and  a  face.  It  was  the  face  of  Leviatt; 
and  there  was  mockery  in  this  face  also. 
While  he  looked  it  spoke. 

"You'll  nurse  him  so's  he  won't  die?"  it 
had  said. 

When  he  awakened  his  blood  was  surging 
with  a  riotous  anger.  The  dream  was 
bothering  him  now,  as  he  rode  away  from 
the  ranchhouse  toward  the  gully  where  he 
had  found  the  dead  Two  Diamond  cow.  He 
had  not  reported  the  finding  of  the  dead 
cow,  intending  to  return  the  next  morning 
to  look  the  ground  over  and  to  fetch  the 
"dogie"  back  to  the  home  ranch.  It  would 
be  time  enough  then  to  make  a  report  of  the 
occurrence  to  Stafford. 

It  was  mid-morning  when  he  finally 
reached  the  gully  and  rode  down  into  it.  He 
found  the  dead  cow  still  there.  He  dis 
mounted  to  drive  away  some  crows  that 
had  gathered  around  the  body.  Then  he 
noticed  that  the  calf  had  disappeared.  It 
had  strayed,  perhaps.  A  calf  could  not  be 
depended  upon  to  remain  very  long  beside 
128 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

its  dead  mother,  though  he  had  known  cases 
where  they  had.  But  if  it  had  strayed  it 
could  not  be  very  far  away.  He  remounted 
his  pony  and  loped  down  the  gully,  reaching 
the  ridge  presently  and  riding  along  this, 
searching  the  surrounding  country  with  keen 
glances.  He  could  see  no  signs  of  the  calf. 
He  came  to  a  shelf-rock  presently,  beside 
which  grew  a  tangled  gnarl  of  scrub-oak 
brush.  Something  lay  in  the  soft  sand  and 
he  dismounted  quickly  and  picked  up  a 
leather  tobacco  pouch.  He  examined  this 
carefully.  There  were  no  marks  on  it  to  tell 
who  might  be  the  owner. 

"A  man  who  loses  his  tobacco  in  this 
country  is  mighty  careless,"  he  observed, 
smiling;  "or  in  pretty  much  of  a  hurry." 

He  went  close  to  the  thicket,  looking  down 
at  it,  searching  the  sand  with  interest.  Pres 
ently  he  made  out  the  impression  of  a  foot 
in  a  soft  spot  and,  looking  further,  saw  two 
furrows  that  might  have  been  made  by  a 
man  kneeling.  He  knelt  in  the  furrows  him 
self  and  with  one  hand  parted  the  brush.  He 
smiled  grimly  as,  peering  into  the  gully,  he 
129 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

saw  the  dead  Two  Diamond  cow  on  the  op 
posite  side. 

He  stepped  abruptly  away  from  the 
thicket  and  looked  about  him.  A  few  yards 
back  there  was  a  deep  depression  in  the 
ridge,  fringed  with  a  growth  of  nondescript 
weed.  He  approached  this  and  peered  into 
it.  Quite  recently  a  horse  had  been  there. 
He  could  plainly  see  the  hoof-prints — where 
the  animal  had  pawed  impatiently.  He  re 
turned  to  the  thicket,  convinced. 

"Some  one  was  here  yesterday  when  I  was 
down  there  lookin'  at  that  cow,"  he  decided. 
"They  was  watchin'  me.  That  man  I  seen 
ridin'  that  other  ridge  was  with  the  one  who 
was  here.  Now  why  didn't  this  man  slope 
too?" 

He  stood  erect,  looking  about  him.  Then 
he  smiled. 

"Why,  it's  awful  plain,"  he  said.  "The 
man  who  was  on  this  ridge  was  watchin'.  He 
heard  my  gun  go  off,  when  I  shot  that  snake. 
I  reckon  he  figgered  that  if  he  tried  to  ride 
away  on  this  ridge  whoever'd  done  the 
shootin'  would  see  him.  An'  so  he  didn't  go. 
130 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

He  stayed  right  here  an'  watched  me  when 
I  rode  up."  He  smiled.  "There  ain't  no 
use  lookin'  for  that  dogie.  The  man  that 
stayed  here  has  run  him  off." 

There  was  nothing  left  for  Ferguson  to 
do.  He  mounted  and  rode  slowly  along  the 
ridge,  examining  the  tobacco  pouch.  And 
then  suddenly  he  discovered  something  that 
brought  an  interested  light  to  his  eyes.  Be 
neath  the  greasy  dirt  on  the  leather  he  could 
make  out  the  faint  outlines  of  two  letters. 
Time  had  almost  obliterated  these,  but  by 
moistening  his  fingers  and  rubbing  the  dirt 
from  the  leather  he  was  able  to  trace  them. 
They  had  been  burned  in,  probably  branded 
with  a  miniature  iron. 

"D.  L,"  he  spelled. 

He  rode  on  again,  his  lips  straightening 
into  serious  lines. 

He  mentally  catalogued  the  names  he  had 
heard  since  coming  to  the  Two  Diamond. 
None  answered  for  the  initials  "D.  L."  It 
was  evident  that  the  pouch  could  belong  to 
no  one  but  Dave  Leviatt.  In  that  case  what 
had  Leviatt  been  doing  on  the  ridge  ?  Why, 
131 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

he  had  been  watching  the  rustler,  of  course. 
In  that  case  the  man  must  be  known  to  him. 
But  what  had  become  of  the  dogie?  What 
would  have  been  Leviatt's  duty,  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  rustlers  ?  Obviously  to  drive 
the  calf  to  the  herd  and  report  the  occurrence 
to  the  manager. 

Leviatt  may  have  driven  the  calf  to  the 
herd,  but  assuredly  he  had  not  reported  the 
occurrence  to  the  manager,  for  he  had  not 
been  in  to  the  ranchhouse.  Why  not? 

Ferguson  pondered  long  over  this,  while 
his  pony  traveled  the  river  trail  toward  the 
ranchhouse.  Finally  he  smiled.  Of  course, 
if  the  man  on  the  ridge  had  been  Leviatt,  he 
must  have  been  there  still  when  Ferguson 
came  up,  or  he  would  not  have  been  there  to 
drive  the  Two  Diamond  calf  to  the  herd 
after  Ferguson  had  departed.  In  that  case 
he  must  have  seen  Ferguson,  and  must  be 
waiting  for  the  latter  to  make  the  report  to 
the  manager.  But  what  motive  would  he 
have  in  this? 

Here  was  more  mystery.  Ferguson 
might  have  gone  on  indefinitely  arranging 
132 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

motives,  but  none  of  them  would  have 
brought  him  near  the  truth. 

He  could,  however,  be  sure  of  three 
things.  Leviatt  had  seen  the  rustler  and 
must  know  him ;  he  had  seen  Ferguson,  and 
knew  that  he  knew  that  a  rustler  had  been  in 
the  gully  before  him;  and  for  some  myste 
rious  reason  he  had  not  reported  to  the  man 
ager.  But  Ferguson  had  one  advantage 
that  pleased  him,  even  drew  a  grim  smile  to 
his  lips  as  he  rode  on  his  way.  Leviatt  may 
have  seen  him  near  the  dead  Two  Diamond 
cow,  but  he  certainly  was  not  aware  that 
Ferguson  knew  he  himself  had  been  there 
during  the  time  that  the  rustler  had  been  at 
work. 

Practically,  of  course,  this  knowledge 
would  avail  Ferguson  little.  Yet  it  was  a 
good  thing  to  know,  for  Leviatt  must  have 
some  reason  for  secrecy,  and  if  anything  de 
veloped  later  Ferguson  would  know  exactly 
where  the  range  boss  stood  in  the  matter. 

Determined  to  investigate  as  far  as  pos 
sible,  he  rode  down  the  river  for  a  few  miles, 
finally  reaching  a  broad  plain  where  the 
133 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

cattle  were  feeding.  Some  cowboys  were 
scattered  over  this  plain,  and  before  riding 
very  far  Ferguson  came  upon  Rope.  The 
latter  spurred  close  to  him,  grinning. 

"I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the 
puncher.  "You've  been  keepin'  yourself 
pretty  scarce.  Scared  of  another  run-in  with 
Leviatt?" 

"Plum  scared,"  returned  Ferguson.  "I 
reckon  that  man'll  make  me  nervous — give 
him  time." 

"Yu'  don't  say?"  grinned  Rope.  "I 
wasn't  noticin'  that  you  was  worryin'  about 
him." 

"I'm  right  flustered,"  returned  Ferguson. 
"Where's  he  now?" 

"Gone  down  the  crick — with  Tucson." 

Ferguson  smoothed  Mustard's  mane. 
"Leviatt  been  with  you  right  along?" 

"He  went  up  the  crick  yesterday,"  re 
turned  Rope,  looking  quickly  at  the  stray- 
man. 

"Went  alone,  I  reckon?" 

"With  Tucson."    Rope  was  trying  to  con 
ceal  his  interest  in  these  questions. 
134 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

But  apparently  Ferguson's  interest  was 
only  casual.  He  turned  a  quizzical  eye  up 
on  Rope.  "You  an'  Tucson  gettin'  along?" 
he  questioned. 

"Me  an'  him's  of  the  same  mind  about  one 
thing,"  returned  Rope. 

"Well,  now."  Ferguson's  drawl  was 
pregnant  with  humor.  "You  surprise  me. 
An'  so  you  an'  him  have  agreed.  I  reckon 
you  ain't  willin'  to  tell  me  what  you've 
agreed  about?" 

"I'm  sure  tellin',"  grinned  Rope.  "Me 
an'  him's  each  dead  certain  that  the  other's  a 
low  down  horse  thief." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  fairly.  Both 
smiled. 

"Then  I  reckon  you  an'  Tucson  are  lovin' 
one  another  about  as  well  as  me  an'  Leviatt," 
observed  Ferguson. 

"There  ain't  a  turruble  lot  of  difference," 
agreed  Rope. 

"An'   so   Tucson's  likin'   you   a   heap," 

drawled  Ferguson  absently.     He  gravely 

contemplated  the  puncher.     "I  expect  you 

was  a  long  ways  off  yesterday  when  Leviatt 

135 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

an'  Tucson  come  in  from  up  the  crick?"  he 
asked. 

"Not  a  turruble  ways  off,"  returned  Rope. 
"I  happened  to  have  this  end  an'  they  passed 
right  close  to  me.  They  clean  forgot  to 
speak." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Ferguson.  "That  was 
sure  careless  of  them.  But  I  reckon  they 
was  busy  at  somethin'  when  they  passed.  In 
that  case  they  wouldn't  have  time  to  speak. 
I've  heard  tell  that  some  folks  can't  do 
more'n  one  thing  at  a  time." 

Rope  laughed.  "They  was  puttin'  in  a 
heap  of  their  time  tryin'  to  make  me  believe 
they  didn't  see  me,"  he  returned.  "Other 
wise  they  wasn't  doin'  anything." 

"Shucks !"  declared  Ferguson  heavily.  "I 
reckon  them  men  wouldn't  go  out  of  their 
way  to  drive  a  poor  little  dogie  in  off  the 
range.  They're  that  hard  hearted." 

"Correct,"  agreed  Rope.  "You  ain't 
missin'  them  none  there." 

Ferguson  smiled,  urging  his  pony  about. 
"I'm  figgerin'  on  gettin'  back  to  the  Two 
Diamond,"  he  said.  He  rode  a  few  feet 
136 


DISAPPEARANCE     OF     ORPHAN 

and  then  halted,  looking  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "You  ain't  givin'  Tucson  no 
chancst  to  say  you  drawed  first?"  he 
warned. 

Rope  laughed  grimly.  "If  there's  any 
shootin'  goin'  on,"  he  replied,  "Tucson  ain't 
goin'  to  say  nothin'  after  it's  over." 

"Well,  so-long,"  said  Ferguson,  urging 
his  pony  forward.  He  heard  Rope's  answer, 
and  then  rode  on,  deeply  concerned  over  his 
discovery. 

Leviatt  and  Tucson  had  ridden  up  the 
river  the  day  before.  They  had  returned 
empty  handed.  And  so  another  link  had 
been  added  to  the  chain  of  mystery.  Where 
was  the  dogie? 


137 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

A    FEW  months  before  her  first  meet 
ing  with  Ferguson,  Mary  Radford 
had  come  West  with  the  avowed 
purpose  of  "absorbing  enough  local  color  for 
a  Western  novel."    Friends  in  the  East  had 
encouraged  her;  an  uncle  (her  only  remain 
ing  relative,  beside  her  brother)  had  assisted 
her.    So  she  had  come. 

The  uncle  (under  whose  care  she  had  been 
since  the  death  of  her  mother,  ten  years  be 
fore)  had  sent  her  to  a  medical  college,  de 
termined  to  make  her  a  finished  physician. 
But  Destiny  had  stepped  in.  Quite  by  ac 
cident  Miss  Radford  had  discovered  that  she 
could  write,  and  the  uncle's  hope  that  she 
might  one  day  grace  the  medical  profession 
138 


A    TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

had  gone  glimmering — completely  buried 
under  a  mass  of  experimental  manuscript. 

He  professed  to  have  still  a  ray  of  hope 
until  after  several  of  the  magazines  had  ac 
cepted  Mary's  work.  Then  hope  died  and 
was  succeeded  by  silent  acquiescence  and 
patient  resignation.  Having  a  knowledge 
of  human  nature  far  beyond  that  possessed 
by  the  average  person,  the  uncle  had  realized 
that  if  Mary's  inclination  led  to  literature  it 
was  worse  than  useless  to  attempt  to  interest 
her  in  any  other  profession.  Therefore,  when 
she  had  announced  her  intention  of  going 
West  he  had  interposed  no  objection;  on 
the  contrary  had  urged  her  to  the  venture. 
What  might  have  been  his  attitude  had  not 
Ben  Radford  been  already  in  the  West  is 
problematical.  Very  seldom  do  we  decide 
a  thing  until  it  confronts  us. 

Mary  Radford  had  been  surprised  at  the 
West.  From  Ben's  cabin  in  the  flat  she  had 
made  her  first  communion  with  this  new 
world  that  she  had  worshipped  at  first  sight. 
It  was  as  though  she  had  stepped  out  of  an 
old  world  into  one  that  was  just  experien- 
139 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

cing  the  dawn  of  creation's  first  morning. 
At  least  so  it  had  seemed  to  her  on  the  morn 
ing  she  had  first  stepped  outside  her  broth 
er's  cabin  to  view  her  first  sunrise. 

She  had  breathed  the  sweet,  moisture- 
laden  breezes  that  had  seemed  to  almost  steal 
over  the  flat  where  she  had  stood  watching 
the  shadows  yield  to  the  coming  sun.  The 
somber  hills  had  become  slowly  outlined ;  the 
snow  caps  of  the  distant  mountain  peaks 
glinted  with  the  brilliant  shafts  that  struck 
them  and  reflected  into  the  dark  recesses  be 
low.  Nature  was  king  here  and  showed  its 
power  in  a  mysterious,  though  convincing 
manner. 

In  the  evening  there  would  come  a  change. 
Through  rifts  in  the  mountains  descended 
the  sun,  spreading  an  effulgent  expanse  of 
yellow  light — like  burnished  gold.  In  the 
shadows  were  reflected  numerous  colors,  all 
quietly  blended,  making  contrasts  of  perfect 
harmony.  There  were  the  sinuous  buttes 
that  bordered  the  opposite  shore  of  the  river 
— solemn  sentinels  guarding  the  beauty  and 
purity  of  this  virgin  land.  Near  her  were 
140 


A   TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

sloping  hills,  dotted  with  thorny  cactus  and 
other  prickly  plants,  and  now  rose  a  bald 
rock  spire  with  its  suggestion  of  grim  lone- 
someness.  In  the  southern  and  eastern 
distances  were  the  plains,  silent,  vast,  unend 
ing.  It  seemed  she  had  come  to  dwell  in  a 
land  deserted  by  some  Cyclopean  race.  Its 
magnificent,  unchanging  beauty  had  en 
thralled  her. 

She  had  not  lacked  company.  She  found 
that  the  Two  Diamond  punchers  were  eager 
to  gain  her  friendship.  Marvelous  excuses 
were  invented  for  their  appearance  at  the 
cabin  in  the  flat.  She  thought  that  Ben's 
friendship  was  valued  above  that  of  all  other 
persons  in  the  surrounding  country. 

But  she  found  the  punchers  gentlemen. 
Though  their  conversation  was  unique  and 
their  idioms  picturesque,  they  compared 
favorably  with  the  men  she  had  known  in  the 
East.  Did  they  lack  the  subtleties,  they 
made  up  for  this  by  their  unfailing  defer 
ence.  And  they  were  never  rude ;  their  very 
bashfulness  prevented  that. 

Through  them  she  came  to  know  much  of 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

many  things.  They  contrived  to  acquaint 
her  with  the  secretive  peculiarities  of  the 
prairie  dog,  and — when  she  would  listen  with 
more  than  ordinary  attention — they  would 
loose  their  wonderful  imaginations  in  the 
hope  of  continuing  the  conversation.  Then 
it  was  that  the  subject  under  discussion 
would  receive  exhaustive,  and  altogether  un 
necessary,  elucidation.  The  habits  of  the 
prairie-dog  were  not  alone  betrayed  to  the 
ears  of  the  young  lady.  The  sage-fowl's  in 
herent  weaknesses  were  paraded  before  her ; 
the  hoot  of  the  owl  was  imitated  with 
ludicrous  solemnity;  other  fowl  were  de 
scribed  with  wonderful  attention  to  detail; 
and  the  inevitable  rattlesnake  was  pointed 
out  to  her  as  a  serpent  whose  chief  occupa 
tion  in  life  was  that  of  posing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  sage-brush  as  a  target  for  the  revolver 
of  the  cowpuncher. 

The  quaintness  of  the  cowboy  speech,  his 
incomparable  bashfulness,  amused  her,  while 
she  was  strangely  affected  by  his  earnest 
ness.  She  attended  to  the  chickens  and  imme 
diately  her  visitors  became  interested  in  them 


A   TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

and  fell  to  discussing  them  as  though  they 
had  done  nothing  all  their  days  but  build 
hen-houses  and  runways.  But  she  had  them 
on  botany.  The  flower  beds  were  deep,  un 
fathomable  mysteries  to  them,  and  they 
stood  afar  while  she  cultivated  the  more  diffi 
cult  plants  and  encouraged  the  hardier  to 
increased  beauty. 

But  she  had  not  been  content  to  view  this 
land  of  mystery  from  her  brother's  cabin. 
The  dignity  of  nature  had  cast  its  thrall  upon 
her.  She  was  impressed  with  the  sublimity 
of  the  climate,  the  wonderful  sunshine,  the 
crystal  light  of  the  days  and  the  quiet  peace 
and  beauty  of  the  nights.  The  lure  of  the 
plains  had  taken  her  upon  long  rides,  and  the 
cottonwood,  filling  a  goodly  portion  of  the 
flat,  was  the  scene  of  many  of  her  explora 
tions. 

The  pony  with  which  her  brother  had  pro 
vided  her  was — Ben  Radford  declared — a 
shining  example  of  sterling  horse-honesty. 
She  did  not  know  that  Ben  knew  horses  quite 
as  well  as  he  knew  men  or  she  would  not 
have  allowed  him  to  see  the  skeptical  glance 
143 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

she  had  thrown  over  the  drowsy-eyed  beast 
that  he  saddled  for  her.  But  she  was  over 
joyed  at  finding  the  pony  all  that  her  brother 
had  said  of  it.  The  little  animal  was  tireless, 
and  often,  after  a  trip  over  the  plains,  or  to 
Dry  Bottom  to  mail  a  letter,  she  would  re 
turn  by  a  roundabout  trail. 

Meanwhile  the  novel  still  remained  un 
written.  Perhaps  she  had  not  yet  "ab 
sorbed"  the  "local  color";  perhaps  inspira 
tion  was  tardy.  At  all  events  she  had  not 
written  a  word.  But  she  was  beginning  to 
realize  the  possibilities;  deep  in  her  soul 
something  was  moving  that  would  presently 
flow  from  her  pen. 

It  would  not  be  commonplace — that  she 
knew.  Real  people  would  move  among  the 
pages  of  her  book ;  real  deeds  would  be  done. 
And  as  the  days  passed  she  decided.  She 
would  write  herself  into  her  book;  there 
would  be  the  first  real  character.  The  story 
would  revolve  about  her  and  another  char 
acter — a  male  one — upon  whom  she  had  not 
decided — until  the  appearance  of  Ferguson. 
After  he  had  come  she  was  no  longer  un- 
144 


rA  TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

decided — she  would  make  him  the  hero  of 
her  story. 

The  villain  she  had  already  met — in 
Leviatt.  Something  about  this  man  was  re- 
pellant.  She  already  had  a  description  of 
him  in  the  note  book  that  she  always  car 
ried.  Had  Leviatt  read  the  things  she  had 
written  of  him  he  would  have  discontinued 
his  visits  to  the  cabin. 

Several  of  the  Two  Diamond  punchers, 
also,  were  noted  as  being  possible  secondary 
characters.  She  had  found  them  very  amus 
ing.  But  the  hero  would  be  the  one  char 
acter  to  whom  she  would  devote  the  concen 
trated  effort  of  her  mind.  She  would  make 
him  live  in  the  pages;  a  real,  forceful  mag 
netic  human  being  that  the  reader  would  in 
stantly  admire.  She  would  bare  his  soul  to 
the  reader;  she  would  reveal  his  mental 
processes — not  involved,  but  leading  straight 
and  true  to 

But  would  she?    Had  she  not  so  far  dis 
covered  a  certain  craftiness  in  the  character 
of  the  Two  Diamond  stray-man  that  would 
indicate  subtlety  of  thought? 
145 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

This  knowledge  had  been  growing  grad 
ually  upon  her  since  their  second  meeting, 
and  it  had  become  an  obstacle  that  prom 
ised  difficulties.  Of  course  she  could  make 
Ferguson  talk  and  act  as  she  pleased — in  the 
book.  But  if  she  wanted  a  real  character 
she  would  have  to  portray  him  as  he  was. 
To  do  this  would  require  study.  Serious 
study  of  any  character  would  inspire  faith 
ful  delineation. 

She  gave  much  thought  to  him  now,  keep 
ing  this  purpose  in  view.  She  questioned 
Ben  concerning  him,  but  was  unable  to  gain 
satisfying  information.  He  had  been  hired 
by  Stafford,  her  brother  told  her,  holding 
the  position  of  stray-man. 

"I've  seen  him  once,  down  the  other  side 
of  the  cottonwood,"  the  young  man  had  said. 
"He  ain't  saying  much  to  anyone.  Seems 
to  be  a  quiet  sort — and  deep.  Pretty  good 
sort  though." 

She  was  pleased  over  Ben's  brief  estimate 
of  the  stray-man.     It  vindicated  her  judg 
ment.    Besides,  it  showed  that  her  brother 
was  not  averse  to  friendship  with  him. 
146 


A   TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

Leviatt  she  saw  with  her  brother  often, 
and  occasionally  he  came  to  the  cabin.  His 
attitude  toward  her  was  one  of  frank  ad 
miration,  but  he  had  received  no  encourage 
ment.  How  could  he  know  that  he  was  go 
ing  to  be  the  villain  in  her  book — soon  to  be 
written? 

Shall  we  take  a  peep  into  that  mysterious 
note  book?  Yes,  for  later  we  shall  see  much 
of  it. 

"Dave  Leviatt,"  she  had  written  in  one 
place.  "Age  thirty-five.  Tall,  slender; 
walks  with  a  slight  stoop.  One  rather  gets 
the  impression  that  the  stoop  is  a  reflection 
of  the  man's  nature,  which  seems  vindictive 
and  suggests  a  low  cunning.  His  eyes  are 
small,  deep  set,  and  glitter  when  he  talks. 
But  they  are  steady,  and  cold — almost  merci 
less.  One's  thoughts  go  instantly  to  the 
tiger.  I  shall  try  to  create  that  impression 
in  the  reader's  mind." 

In  another  place  she  had  jotted  this  down: 

"I  shouldn't  want  anyone  killed  in  my  book, 

but  if  I  find  this  to  be  necessary  Leviatt 

must  do  the  murder.    But  I  think  it  would 

147 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

be  better  to  have  him  employ  some  other 
person  to  do  it  for  him ;  that  would  give  him 
just  the  character  that  would  fit  him  best.  I 
want  to  make  him  seem  too  cowardly — no, 
not  cowardly,  because  I  don't  think  he  is  a 
coward;  but  too  cunning — to  take  chances 
of  being  caught." 

Evidently  she  had  been  questioning  Ben, 
for  in  another  place  she  had  written: 

"Ferguson.  I  must  remember  this — all 
cowboys  do  not  carry  two  guns.  Ben  does, 
because  he  says  he  is  ambidextrous,  shooting 
equally  well  with  either  hand.  But  he  does 
not  tie  the  bottoms  of  his  holsters  down,  like 
Ferguson;  he  says  some  men  do  this,  but 
usually  they  are  men  who  are  exceptionally 
rapid  in  getting  their  revolvers  out  and  that 
tying  down  the  bottoms  of  the  holsters  facili 
tates  removing  the  weapons.  They  are  ac 
counted  to  be  dangerous  men. 

"Ben  says  when  a  man  is  quick  to  shoot 
out  here  he  is  called  a  gun-man,  and  that  if 
he  carries  two  revolvers  he  is  a  two-gun  man. 
Ben  laughs  at  me  when  I  speak  of  a  're- 
yolver' ;  they  are  known  merely  as  'guns'  out 
148 


A   TOUCH  OF  LOCAL  COLOR 

here.  I  must  remember  this.  Ben  says  that 
though  he  likes  Ferguson  quite  well,  he  is 
rather  suspicious  of  him.  He  seems  to  be 
unable  to  understand  why  Stafford  should 
employ  a  two-gun  man  to  look  up  stray 


cows." 


Below  this  appeared  a  brief  reference  to 
Ferguson. 

"He  is  not  a  bit  conceited — rather  bashful, 
I  should  say.  But  embarrassment  in  him  is 
attractive.  No  hero  should  be  conceited. 
There  is  a  wide  difference  between  im 
pertinence  and  frankness.  Ferguson  seems 
to  speak  frankly,  but  with  a  subtle  shade.  I 
think  this  is  a  very  agreeable  trait  for  a 
hero  in  a  novel." 

There  followed  more  interesting  scraps 
concerning  I>eviatt,  which  would  have  caused 
the  range  boss  many  bad  moments.  And 
there  were  interesting  bits  of  description — 
jotted  down  when  she  became  impressed 
with  a  particularly  odd  view  of  the  country. 
But  there  were  no  more  references  to  Fer 
guson.  He — being  the  hero  of  her  novel — * 
must  be  studied  thoroughly. 
149 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  STORY  BEGINS 

MISS  RADFORD  tied  her  pony  to 
the  trunk  of  a  slender  fir-balsam  and 
climbed  to  the  summit  of  a  small 
hill.    There  were  some  trees,  quite  a  bit  of 
grass,  some  shrubbery,  on  the  hill — and  no 
snakes.    She  made  sure  of  this  before  seat 
ing  herself  upon  a  little  shelf  of  rock,  near 
a  tall  cedar. 

Half  a  mile  down  the  river  she  could  see 
a  corner  of  Ben's  cabin,  a  section  of  the 
corral  fence,  and  one  of  the  small  outbuild 
ings.  Opposite  the  cabin,  across  the  river, 
rose  the  buttes  that  met  her  eyes  always 
when  she  came  to  the  cabin  door.  This  hill 
upon  which  she  sat  was  one  that  she  saw 
often,  when  in  the  evening,  watching  the 
150 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


setting  sun,  she  followed  its  golden  rays  with 
her  eyes.  Many  times,  as  the  sun  had  gone 
slowly  down  into  a  rift  of  the  mountains, 
she  had  seen  the  crest  of  this  hill  shimmering 
in  a  saffron  light;  the  only  spot  in  the  flat 
that  rose  above  the  somber,  oncoming 
shadows  of  the  dusk. 

From  here,  it  seemed,  began  the  rose  veil 
that  followed  the  broad  saffron  shaft  that 
led  straight  to  the  mountains.  Often,  watch 
ing  the  beauty  of  the  hill  during  the  long 
sunset,  she  had  felt  a  deep  awe  stirring  her. 
Romance  was  here,  and  mystery;  it  was  a 
spot  favored  by  the  Sun-Gods,  who  sur 
rounded  it  with  a  glorious  halo,  lingeringly, 
reluctantly  withdrawing  as  the  long  shadows 
of  the  twilight  crept  over  the  face  of  the 
world. 

It  was  not  her  first  visit  to  the  hill.  Many 
times  she  had  come  here,  charmed  with  the 
beauty  of  the  view,  and  during  one  of  those 
visits  she  had  decided  that  seated  on  the  shelf 
rock  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  she  would 
write  the  first  page  of  the  book.  It  was  for 
this  purpose  that  she  had  now  come. 
151 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

After  seating  herself  she  opened  a  small 
handbag,  producing  therefrom  many  sheets 
of  paper,  a  much-thumbed  copy  of  Shake 
speare,  and  a  pencil.  She  was  tempted  to 
begin  with  a  description  of  the  particular  bit 
of  country  upon  which  she  looked,  for  long 
ago  she  had  decided  upon  Bear  Flat  for  the 
locale  of  the  story.  But  she  sat  long  nibbling 
at  the  end  of  the  pencil,  delaying  the  begin 
ning  for  fear  of  being  unable  to  do  justice 
to  it. 

She  began  at  length,  making  several  false 
starts  and  beginning  anew.  Finally  came  a 
paragraph  that  remained.  Evidently  this 
was  satisfactory,  for  another  paragraph  fol 
lowed;  and  then  another,  and  still  another. 
Presently  a  complete  page.  Then  she  looked 
up  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  relief.  The 
start  had  been  made. 

She  had  drawn  a  word  picture  of  the  flat ; 
dwelling  upon  the  solitude,  the  desolation, 
the  vastness,  the  swimming  sunlight,  the  ab 
sence  of  life  and  movement.  But  as  she 
looked,  critically  comparing  what  she  had 
written  with  the  reality,  there  came  a  move- 
152 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


merit — a  horseman  had  ridden  into  her  pic 
ture.  He  had  come  down  through  a  little 
gully  that  led  into  the  flat  and  was  loping 
his  pony  through  the  deep  saccatone  grass 
toward  the  cabin. 

It  couldn't  be  Ben.  Ben  had  told  her  that 
he  intended  riding  some  thirty  miles  down 
the  river  and  he  couldn't  be  returning  al 
ready.  She  leaned  forward,  watching  intent 
ly,  the  story  forgotten. 

The  rider  kept  steadily  on  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Then  he  reached  the  clearing  in 
which  the  cabin  stood;  she  saw  him  ride 
through  it  and  disappear.  Five  minutes 
later  he  reappeared,  hesitated  at  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  and  then  urged  his  pony  to 
ward  the  hill  upon  which  she  sat.  As  he  rode 
out  of  the  shadows  of  the  trees  within  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  of  her  the  sunlight  shone 
fairly  upon  the  pony.  She  would  have 
known  Mustard  among  many  other  ponies. 

She  drew  a  sudden,  deep  breath  and  sat 
erect,  tucking  back  some  stray  wisps  of  hair 
from  her  forehead.  Did  the  rider  see  her? 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  the  answer 
153 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

would  be  negative,  for  he  disappeared  be 
hind  some  dense  shrubbery  on  the  plain  be 
low  and  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  passing 
the  hill.  But  just  at  the  edge  of  the  shrub 
bery  Mustard  suddenly  swerved  and  came 
directly  toward  her.  Through  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  she  watched  while  Ferguson  dis 
mounted,  tied  Mustard  close  to  her  own 
animal,  and  stood  a  moment  quietly  regard 
ing  her. 

"You  want  to  look  at  the  country  all  by 
yourself?"  he  inquired. 

She  pretended  a  start,  looking  down  at 
him  in  apparent  surprise. 

"Why,"  she  prevaricated,  "I  thought 
there  was  no  one  within  miles  of  me!" 

She  saw  his  eyes  flash  in  the  sunlight.  "Of 
course,"  he  drawled,  "there's  such  an  awful 
darkness  that  no  one  could  see  a  pony  comin' 
across  the  flat.  You  think  you'll  be  able  to 
find  your  way  home?" 

She  flushed  guiltily  and  did  not  reply.  She 
heard  him  clambering  up  over  the  loose 
stones,  and  presently  he  stood  near  her.  She 
made  a  pretense  of  writing. 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


"Did  you  stop  at  the  cabin?"  she  asked 
without  looking  up. 

He  regarded  her  with  amused  eyes,  stand 
ing  loosely,  his  arms  folded,  the  fingers  of 
his  right  hand  pulling  at  his  chin.  "Did  I 
stop?"  he  repeated.  "I  couldn't  rightly  say. 
Seems  to  me  as  though  I  did.  You  see,  I 
didn't  intend  to,  but  I  was  ridin'  down  that 
way  an'  I  thought  I'd  stop  in  an'  have  a 
talk  with  Ben." 

"Oh!"  Sometimes  even  a  monosyllable  is 
pregnant  with  mockery. 

"But  he  wasn't  there.  Nobody  was  there. 
I  wasn't  reckonin'  on  everybody  runnin' 
off." 

She  turned  and  looked  straight  at  him. 
"Why,"  she  said,  "I  shouldn't  think  our  run 
ning  away  would  surprise  you.  You  see, 
you  set  us  an  example  in  running  away  the 
other  day." 

He  knew  instantly  that  she  referred  to  his 
precipitate  retreat  on  the  night  she  had 
hinted  that  she  intended  putting  him  into 
her  story.  She  shot  another  glance  at  him 
and  saw  his  face  redden  with  embarrass- 
155 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

ment,  but  he  showed  no  intention  of  running 
now. 

"I've  been  thinkin'  of  what  you  said,"  he 
returned.  "You  couldn't  put  me  into  no 
book.  You  don't  know  anything  about  me. 
.You  don't  know  what  I  think.  Then  how 
could  you  do  it?" 

"Of  course,"  she  returned,  turning  square 
ly  around  to  him  and  speaking  seriously, 
"the  story  will  be  fiction,  and  the  plot  will 
have  no  foundation  in  fact.  But  I  shall  be 
very  careful  to  have  my  characters  talk  and 
act  naturally.  To  do  this  I  shall  have  to 
study  the  people  whom  I  wish  to  char 
acterize." 

He  was  moved  by  an  inward  mirth. 
"You're  still  thinkin'  of  puttin'  me  into  the 
book?"  he  questioned. 

She  nodded,  smiling. 

"Then,"  he  said,  very  gravely,  "y°u  hadn't 
ought  to  have  told  me.  You  didn't  show  so 
clever  there.  Ain't  you  afraid  that  I'll  go 
to  actin'  swelled?  If  I  do  that,  you'd  not 
have  the  character  you  wanted." 

"I  had  thought  of  that,  too,"  she  returned 
156 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


seriously.  "If  you  were  that  kind  of  a  man 
I  shouldn't  want  you  in  the  book.  How  do 
you  know  that  I  haven't  told  you  for  the 
purpose  of  discovering  if  you  would  be  af 
fected  in  that  manner?" 

He  scratched  his  head,  contemplating  her 
gravely.  "I  reckon  you're  travelin'  too  fast 
for  me,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

His  expression  of  frank  amusement  was 
good  to  see.  He  stood  before  her,  plainly 
ready  to  surrender.  Absolutely  boyish,  he 
seemed  to  her — a  grown-up  boy  to  be  sure, 
but  with  a  boy's  enthusiasms,  impulses,  and 
generosity.  Yet  in  his  eyes  was  something 
that  told  of  maturity,  of  conscious  power,  of 
perfect  trust  in  his  ability  to  give  a  good  ac 
count  of  himself,  even  in  this  country  where 
these  qualities  constituted  the  chief  rule  of 
life. 

A  strange  emotion  stirred  her,  a  sudden 
quickening  of  the  pulse  told  her  that  some 
thing  new  had  come  into  her  life.  She  drew 
a  deep,  startled  breath  and  felt  her  cheeks 
crimsoning.  She  swiftly  turned  her  head 
and  gazed  out  over  the  flat,  leaving  him 
157 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

standing  there,  scarcely  comprehending  her 
embarrassment. 

"I  reckon  you've  been  writin*  some  of  that 
book,  ma'am,"  he  said,  seeing  the  papers  ly 
ing  on  the  rock  beside  her.  "I  don't  see  why 
you  should  want  to  write  a  Western  story. 
Do  folks  in  the  East  get  interested  in  know- 
in'  what's  goin'  on  out  here?" 

She  suddenly  thought  of  herself.  Had 
she  found  it  interesting?  She  looked  swiftly 
at  him,  appraising  him  from  a  new  view 
point,  feeling  a  strange,  new  interest  in  him. 

"It  would  be  strange  if  they  didn't,"  she 
returned.  "Why,  it  is  the  only  part  of  the 
country  in  which  there  still  remains  a  touch 
of  romance.  You  must  remember  that  this 
is  a  young  country;  that  its  history  began  at 
a  comparatively  late  date.  England  can 
write  of  its  feudal  barons ;  France  of  its  an 
cient  aristocracy ;  but  America  can  look  back 
only  to  the  Colonial  period — and  the  West." 

"Mebbe  you're  right,"  he  said,  not  con 
vinced.    "But  I  expect  there  ain't  a  heap  of 
romance  out  here.    Leastways,  if  there  is  it 
manages  to  keep  itself  pretty  well  hid." 
158 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


She  smiled,  thinking  of  the  romance  that 
surrounded  him — of  which,  plainly,  he  was 
not  conscious.  To  him,  romance  meant  the 
lights,  the  crowds,  the  amusements,  the 
glitter  and  tinsel  of  the  cities  of  the  East, 
word  of  which  had  come  to  him  through  va 
rious  channels.  To  her  these  things  were  no 
longer  novel, — if  they  had  ever  been  so — 
and  so  for  her  romance  must  come  from  the 
new,  the  unusual,  the  unconventional.  The 
West  was  all  this,  therefore  romance  dwelt 
here, 

"Of  course  it  all  seems  commonplace  to 
you,"  she  returned;  "perhaps  even  monot 
onous.  For  you  have  lived  here  long." 

He  laughed.  "I've  traveled  a  heap."  he 
said.  "I've  been  in  California,  Dakota, 
Wyoming,  Texas,  an'  Arizona.  An'  now 
I'm  here.  Savin'  a  man  meets  different 
people,  this  country  is  pretty  much  all  the 


same." 


"You  must  have  had  a  great  deal  of  ex 
perience,"  she  said.  "And  you  are  not  very 
old." 

He  gravely  considered  her.  "I  would  say 
159 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

that  I  am  about  the  average  age  for  this 
country.  You  see,  folks  don't  live  to  get 
very  old  out  here — unless  they're  mighty 
careful." 

"And  you  haven't  been  careful?" 

He  smiled  gravely.  "I  expect  you 
wouldn't  call  it  careful.  But  I'm  still  livin'." 

His  words  were  singularly  free  from 
boast. 

"That  means  that  you  have  escaped  the 
dangers,"  she  said.  "I  have  heard  that  a 
man's  safety  in  this  country  depends  largely 
upon  his  ability  to  shoot  quickly  and  ac 
curately.  I  suppose  you  are  accounted  a 
good  shot?" 

The  question  was  too  direct.  His  eyes 
narrowed  craftily. 

"I  expect  you're  thinkin'  of  that  book 
now  ma'am,"  he  said.  "There's  a  heap  of 
men  c'n  shoot.  You  might  say  they're  all 
good  shots.  I've  told  you  about  the  men 
who  can't  shoot  good.  They're  either 
mighty  careful,  or  they  ain't  here  any  more. 
It's  always  one  or  the  other." 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  shuddering 
160 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


slightly.  "In  that  case  I  suppose  the  hero 
in  my  story  will  have  to  be  a  good  shot."  She 
laughed.  "I  shouldn't  want  him  to  get  half 
way  through  the  story  and  then  be  killed  be 
cause  he  was  clumsy  in  handling  his  weapon. 
I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  I  shall  have 
to  make  him  a  'two-gun'  man.  I  understand 
they  are  supposed  to  be  very  good  shots." 

"I've  seen  them  that  wasn't,"  he  returned 
gravely  and  shortly. 

"How  did  you  prove  that?"  she  asked 
suddenly. 

But  he  was  not  to  be  snared.  "I  didn't 
say  I'd  proved  it,"  he  stated.  "But  I've 
seen  it  proved." 

"How  proved?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  his  eyes  glinting  with 
amusement,  "they  ain't  here  any  more, 


ma'am." 


"Oh.  Then  it  doesn't  follow  that  because 
a  man  wears  two  guns  he  is  more  likely  to 
survive  than  is  the  man  who  wears  only 
one?" 

"I  reckon  not,  ma'am." 

"I  see  that  you  have  the  bottoms  of  your 
161 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

holsters  tied  down,"  she  said,   looking  at 
them.    "Why  have  you  done  that?" 

"Well,"  he  declared,  drawling  his  words  a 
little,  "I've  always  found  that  there  ain't 
any  use  of  takin'  chances  on  an  accident. 
You  mightn't  live  to  tell  about  it.  An"  hav- 
in'  the  bottoms  of  your  holsters  tied  down 
keeps  your  guns  from  snaggin'.  I've  seen 
men  whose  guns  got  snagged  when  they 
wanted  to  use  them.  They  wasn't  so  active 
after." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  make  my  hero  a 
'two-gun'  man,"  she  said.  "That  is  de 
cided.  Now,  the  next  thing  to  do  is  to  give 
some  attention  to  his  character.  I  think  he 
ought  to  be  absolutely  fearless  and  honest 
and  incapable  of  committing  a  dishonorable 
deed.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

While  they  had  talked  he  had  come  closer 
to  her  and  stood  beside  the  shelf  rock,  one 
foot  resting  on  it.  At  her  question  he 
suddenly  looked  down  at  the  foot,  shifting  it 
nervously,  while  a  flush  started  from  above 
the  blue  scarf  at  his  throat  and  slowly; 
suffused  his  face. 

162 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


"Don't  you  think  so?"  she  repeated,  her 
eyes  meeting  his  for  an  instant. 

"Why,  of  course,  ma'am,"  he  suddenly  an 
swered,  the  words  coming  sharply,  as  though 
he  had  only  at  that  instant  realized  the  im 
port  of  the  question. 

"Why,"  said  she,  aware  of  his  embarrass 
ment,  "don't  you  think  there  are  such  men?" 

"I  expect  there  are,  ma'am,"  he  returned; 
"but  in  this  country  there's  a  heap  of  argu 
ment  could  be  made  about  what  would  be 
dishonorable.  If  your  two-gun  should  hap 
pen  to  be  a  horse  thief,  or  a  rustler,  I  reckon 
we  could  get  at  it  right  off." 

"He  shan't  be  either  of  those,"  she  de 
clared  stoutly.  "I  don't  think  he  would 
stoop  to  such  contemptible  deeds.  In  the 
story  he  is  employed  by  a  ranch  owner  to 
kill  a  rustler  whom  the  owner  imagines  has 
been  stealing  his  cattle." 

His  hands  were  suddenly  behind  him,  the 
fingers  clenched.  His  eyes  searched  her  face 
with  an  alert,  intense  gaze.  His  embarrass 
ment  was  gone;  his  expression  was  satur 
nine,  his  eyes  narrowed  with  a  slight  mock- 
163 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

ery.     And  his  voice  came,  cold,  deliberate, 
even. 

"I  reckon  you've  got  your  gun-man  true 
to  life,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

She  laughed  lightly,  amused  over  the 
sudden  change  that  she  saw  and  felt  in  him. 
"Of  course  the  gun-man  doesn't  really  in 
tend  to  kill  the  rustler,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
believe  I  shall  have  any  one  killed  in  the 
story.  The  gun-man  is  merely  attracted  by 
the  sum  of  money  promised  him  by  the 
ranch  owner,  and  when  he  accepts  it  is  only 
because  he  is  in  dire  need  of  work.  Don't 
you  think  that  could  be  possible?" 

"That  could  happen  easy  in  this  country, 
ma'am,"  he  returned. 

She  laughed  delightedly.  "That  vindi 
cates  my  judgment,"  she  declared. 

He  was  regarding  her  with  unwavering 
eyes.  "Is  that  gun-man  goin'  to  be  the  hero 
in  your  story,  ma'am?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"Why,  of  course." 

"An' I'm  to  be  him?" 

She  gave  him  a  defiant  glance,  though  she 
blushed  immediately. 

164 


THE  STORY  BEGINS 


"Why  do  you  ask?"  she  questioned  in 
reply.  "You  need  have  no  fear  that  I  will 
compel  my  hero  to  do  anything  dishonor 
able." 

"I  ain't  fearin'  anything,"  he  returned. 
"But  I'd  like  to  know  how  you  come  to  think 
of  that.  Do  writers  make  them  things  up 
out  of  their  own  minds,  or  does  someone  tell 
them?" 

"Those  things  generally  have  their  origin 
in  the  mind  of  the  writer,"  she  replied. 

"Meanin'  that  you  thought  of  that  your 
self?"  he  persisted. 

"Of  course." 

He  lifted  his  foot  from  the  rock  and  stood 
looking  gravely  at  her.  "In  most  of  the 
books  I  have  read  there's  always  a  villain. 
I  reckon  you're  goin'  to  have  one?" 

"There  will  be  a  villain,"  she  returned. 

His  eyes  flashed  queerly.  "Would  you 
mind  tellin'  me  who  you  have  picked  out  for 
your  villain?"  he  continued. 

"I  don't  mind,"  she  said.    "It  is  Leviatt." 

He  suddenly  grinned  broadly  and  held  out 
his  right  hand  to  her.  "Shake,  ma'am,"  he 
165 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

said.     "I  reckon  if  I  was  writin'  a  book 
Leviatt  would  be  the  villain." 

She  rose  from  the  rock  and  took  his  out 
stretched  hand,  her  eyes  drooping  as  they 
met  his.  He  felt  her  hand  tremble  a  little, 
and  he  looked  at  it,  marveling.  She  glanced 
up,  saw  him  looking  at  her  hand,  swiftly 
withdrew  it,  and  turned  from  him,  looking 
down  into  the  flat  at  the  base  of  the  hill. 
She  started,  uttering  the  sharp  command: 
"Look!" 

Perhaps  a  hundred  yards  distant,  sitting 
on  his  pony  in  a  lounging  attitude,  was  a 
horseman.  While  they  looked  the  horseman 
removed  his  broad  brimmed  hat,  bowed 
mockingly,  and  urged  his  pony  out  into  the 
flat.  It  was  Leviatt. 

On  the  slight  breeze  a  laugh  floated  back 
to  them,  short,  sharp,  mocking. 

For  a  time  they  stood  silent,  watching  the 
departing  rider.  Then  Ferguson's  lips 
wreathed  into  a  feline  smile. 

"Kind  of  dramatic,  him  ridin'  up  that-a- 
way,"  he  said.    "Don't  you  think  puttin'  him 
in  the  book  will  spoil  it,  ma'am?" 
166 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"DO  YOU  SMOKE?" 

LEVIATT  rode  down  through  the 
gully  where  Miss  Radford  had  first 
caught  sight  of  Ferguson  when  he 
had  entered  the  flat.  He  disappeared  in  this 
and  five  minutes  later  came  out  upon  a  ridge 
above  it.  The  distance  was  too  great  to  ob 
serve  whether  he  turned  to  look  back.  But 
just  before  he  disappeared  finally  they  saw 
him  sweep  his  hat  from  his  head.  It  was  a 
derisive  motion,  and  Miss  Radford  colored 
and  shot  a  furtive  glance  at  Ferguson. 

The  latter  stood  loosely  beside  her,  his  hat 
brim  pulled  well  down  over  his  forehead. 
As  she  looked  she  saw  his  eyes  narrow  and 
his  lips  curve  ironically. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  thought?"  she 
questioned,  her  eyes  drooping  away  from  his. 
167 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"Him?"  Ferguson  laughed.  "I  expect 
you  could  see  from  his  actions  that  he  wasn't 
a  heap  tickled."  Some  thought  was  moving 
him  mightily.  He  chuckled  gleefully.  "Now 
if  you  could  only  put  what  he  was  thinkin' 
into  your  book,  ma'am,  it  sure  would  make 
interestin'  readin'." 

"But  he  saw  you  holding  my  hand!"  she 
declared,  aware  of  the  uselessness  of  telling 
him  this,  but  unable  to  repress  her  indigna 
tion  over  the  thought  that  Leviatt  had  seen. 

"Why,  I  expect  he  did,  ma'am!"  he  re 
turned,  trying  hard  to  keep  the  pleasure  out 
of  his  voice.  "You  see,  he  must  have  been 
lookin'  right  at  us.  But  there  ain't  nothin' 
to  be  flustered  over.  I  reckon  that  some 
day,  if  he's  around,  he'll  see  me  holdin'  your 
hand  again." 

The  red  in  her  cheeks  deepened.  "Why, 
how  conceited  you  are!"  she  said,  trying  to 
be  very  severe,  but  only  succeeding  in  mak 
ing  him  think  that  her  eyes  were  prettier 
than  he  had  thought. 

"I  don't  think  I  am  conceited,  ma'am,"  he 
returned,  smiling.  "I've  liked  you  right 
168 


rDO    YOU  SMOKE?3 


well  since  the  beginning.  I  don't  think  it's 
conceit  to  tell  a  lady  that  you're  thinkin'  of 
holdin'  her  hand." 

She  was  looking  straight  at  him,  trying  to 
be  very  defiant.  "And  so  you  have  liked  me?" 
she  taunted.  "I  am  considering  whether 
to  tell  you  that  I  was  not  thinking  of  you 
as  a  possible  admirer." 

His  eyes  flashed.  "I  don't  think  you  mean 
that,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "You  ain't  treated 
me  like  you  treated  some  others." 

"Some  others?"  she  questioned,  not  com 
prehending. 

He  laughed.  "Them  other  Two  Diamond 
men  that  took  a  shine  to  you.  I've  heard 
that  you  talked  right  sassy  to  them.  But 
you  ain't  never  been  sassy  to  me.  Least 
ways,  you  ain't  never  told  me  to  'evap 
orate'." 

She  was  suddenly  convulsed.  "They 
have  told  you  that?"  she  questioned.  And 
then  not  waiting  for  an  answer  she  con 
tinued  more  soberly:  "And  so  you  thought* 
that  in  view  of  what  I  have  said  to  those 
men  you  had  been  treated  comparatively 
169 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

civilly.  I  am  afraid  I  have  underestimated 
you.  Hereafter  I  shall  talk  less  intimately 
to  you." 

"I  wouldn't  do  that,  ma'am,"  he  pleaded. 
"You  don't  need  to  be  afraid  that  I'll  be  too 
fresh." 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  pretense 
of  delight.  "It  will  be  very  nice  to  know 
that  I  can  talk  to  you  without  fear  of  your 
placing  a  false  construction  on  my  words. 
But  I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 

He  stepped  back  from  the  rock,  hitching 
at  his  cartridge  belt.  "I'm  goin'  over  to  the 
Two  Diamond  now,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "And 
since  you've  said  you  ain't  afraid  of  me,  I'm 
askin'  you  if  you  won't  go  ridin'  with  me  to 
morrow.  There's  a  right  pretty  stretch  of 
country  about  fifteen  miles  up  the  crick  that 
you'd  be  tickled  over." 

Should  she  tell  him  that  she  had  explored 
all  of  the  country  within  thirty  miles?  The 
words  trembled  on  her  lips  but  remained  un 
spoken. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  she  objected.    "Do 
you  think  it  is  quite  safe?" 
170 


fDO    YOU  SMOKE?" 


He  smiled  and  stepped  away  from  her, 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder.  "Thank 
you,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "I'll  ride  over  for 
you  some  time  in  the  mornin'."  He  con 
tinued  down  the  hill,  loose  stones  rattling 
ahead  of  him.  She  looked  after  him, 
radiant. 

"But  I  didn't  say  I  would  go,"  she  called. 
And  then,  receiving  no  answer  to  this,  she 
waited  until  he  had  swung  into  the  saddle 
and  was  waving  a  farewell  to  her. 

"Don't  come  before  ten  o'clock!"  she  ad 
vised. 

She  saw  him  smile  and  then  she  returned 
to  her  manuscript. 

When  the  Sun-Gods  kissed  the  crest  of 
the  hill  and  bathed  her  in  the  rich  rose  colors 
that  came  straight  down  to  the  hill  through 
the  rift  in  the  mountains,  she  rose  and 
gathered  up  her  papers.  She  had  not  writ 
ten  another  line. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Leviatt 
rode  up  to  the  door  of  Stafford's  office  and 
dismounted.    He  took  plenty  of  time  walk- 
171 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

ing  the  short  distance  that  lay  between  him 
and  the  door,  and  growled  a  savage  reply 
to  a  loafing  puncher,  who  asked  him  a  ques 
tion.  Once  in  the  office  he  dropped  glumly 
into  a  chair,  his  eyes  glittering  vengefully 
as  his  gaze  rested  on  Stafford,  who  sat  at  his 
desk,  engaged  in  his  accounts.  Through  the 
open  window  Stafford  had  seen  the  range 
boss  coming  and  therefore  when  the  latter 
had  entered  he  had  not  looked  up. 

Presently  he  finished  his  work  and  drew 
back  from  the  desk.  Then  he  took  up  a 
pipe,  filled  it  with  tobacco,  lighted  it,  and 
puffed  with  satisfaction. 

"Nothings  happened?"  he  questioned, 
glancing  at  his  range  boss. 

Leviatt's  reply  was  short.  "No.  Dropped 
down  to  see  how  things  was  runnin'." 

"Things  is  quiet,"  returned  Stafford. 
"There  ain't  been  any  cattle  missed  for  a 
long  time.  I  reckon  the  new  stray-man  is 
doin'  some  good." 

Leviatt's    eyes    glowed.      "If    you    call 
gassin'  with  Mary  Radford  doin'  good,  why 
then,  he's  doin'  it!"  he  snapped. 
172 


7)O    YOU  SMOKE?" 


"I  ain't  heard  that  he's  doin'  that,"  re 
turned  Stafford. 

"I'm  tellin'  you  about  it  now,"  said 
Leviatt.  "I  seen  him  to-day;  him  an'  her 
holdin'  hands  on  top  of  a  hill  in  Bear  Flat." 
He  sneered.  "He's  a  better  ladies'  man  than 
a  gunfighter.  I  reckon  we  made  a  mistake 
in  pickin'  him  up." 

Stafford  smiled  indulgently.  "He's 
cert'nly  a  good  looker,"  he  said.  "I  reckon 
some  girls  would  take  a  shine  to  him.  But 
I  ain't  questionin'  his  shootin*.  I've  been  in 
this  country  a  right  smart  while  an'  I  ain't 
never  seen  another  man  that  could  bore  a 
can  six  times  while  it's  in  the  air." 

Leviatt's  lips  drooped.  "He  could  do 
that  an'  not  have  nerve  enough  to  shoot  a 
coyote.  Him  not  clashin'  with  Ben  Rad- 
ford  proves  he  ain't  got  nerve." 

Stafford  smiled.  The  story  of  how  the 
stray-man  had  closed  Leviatt's  mouth  was 
still  fresh  in  his  memory.  He  was  wonder 
ing  whether  Leviatt  knew  that  he  had  heard 
about  the  incident. 

"Suppose  you  try  him?"  he  suggested. 
173 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

"That'd  be  as  good  a  way  as  any  to  find  out 
if  he's  got  nerve." 

Leviatt's  face  bloated  poisonously,  but  he 
made  no  answer.  Apparently  unaware  that 
he  had  touched  a  tender  spot  Stafford  con 
tinued. 

"Mebbe  his  game  is  to  get  in  with  the  girl, 
figgerin'  that  he'll  be  more  liable  that  way 
to  get  a  chancst  at  Ben  Radford.  But  what 
ever  his  game  is,  I  ain't  interferin'.  He's 
got  a  season  contract  an'  I  ain't  breakin'  my 
word  with  the  cuss.  I  ain't  takin'  no  chances 
with  him." 

Leviatt  rose  abruptly,  his  face  swelling 
with  an  anger  that  he  was  trying  hard  to 
suppress.  "He'd  better  not  go  to  foolin' 
with  Mary  Radford,  damn  him!"  he 
snapped. 

"I  reckon  that  wind  is  bio  win'  in  two  di 
rections,"  grinned  Stafford.  "When  I  see 

him  I'll  tell  him "  A  clatter  of  hoofs 

reached  the  ears  of  the  two  men,  and 
Stafford  turned  to  the  window.  "Here's 
the  stray-man  now,"  he  said  gravely. 

Both  men  were   silent  when   Ferguson 


fDO   YOU  SMOKE?3 


reached  the  door.  He  stood  just  inside, 
looking  at  Stafford  and  Leviatt  with  cold, 
alert  eyes.  He  nodded  shortly  to  Stafford, 
not  removing  his  gaze  from  the  range  boss. 
The  latter  deliberately  turned  his  back  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

There  was  insolence  in  the  movement,  but 
apparently  it  had  no  effect  upon  the  stray- 
man,  beyond  bringing  a  queer  twitch  into 
the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He  smiled  at 
Stafford. 

"Anything  new?"  questioned  the  latter,  as 
he  had  questioned  Leviatt. 

"Nothin'  doin',"  returned  Ferguson. 

Leviatt  now  turned  from  the  window.  He 
spoke  to  Stafford,  sneering.  "Ben  Rad- 
ford's  quite  a  piece  away  from  where  he's 
hangin'  out,"  he  said.  He  again  turned  to 
the  window. 

Ferguson's  lips  smiled,  but  his  eyes  nar 
rowed.  Stafford  stiffened  in  his  chair.  He 
watched  the  stray-man's  hands  furtively, 
fearing  the  outcome  of  this  meeting.  But 
Ferguson's  hands  were  nowhere  near  his 
guns.  They  were  folded  over  his  chest — 
175 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

lightly — the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  caress 
ing  his  chin. 

"You  ridin'  up  the  crick  to-day?"  he 
questioned  of  Leviatt.  His  tone  was  mild, 
yet  there  was  a  peculiar  quality  in  it  that 
hinted  at  hardness. 

"No,"  answered  Leviatt,  without  turn 
ing. 

Ferguson  began  rolling  a  cigarette. 
When  he  had  done  this  he  lighted  it  and 
puffed  slowly.  "Well,  now,"  he  said,  "that's 
mighty  peculiar.  "I'd  swore  that  I  saw  you 
over  in  Bear  Flat." 

Leviatt  turned.  "You've  been  pickin' 
posies  too  long  with  Mary  Radford,"  he 
sneered. 

Ferguson  smiled.  "Mebbe  I  have,"  he  re 
turned.  "There's  them  that  she'll  let  pick 
posies  with  her,  an'  them  that  she  won't." 

Leviatt's  face  crimsoned  with  anger.  "I 
reckon  if  you  hadn't  been  monkeyin'  around 
too  much  with  the  girl,  you'd  have  run 
across  that  dead  Two  Diamond  cow  an'  the 
dogie  that  she  left,"  he  sneered. 

Ferguson's  lips  straightened.  "How  far 
176 


"DO   YOU  SMOKE?" 


off  was  you  standin'  when  that  cow  died?" 
he  drawled. 

A  curse  writhed  through  Leviatt's  lips. 
"Why,  you  damned- 

"Don't!"  warned  Ferguson.  He  coolly; 
stepped  toward  Leviatt,  holding  by  the 
thongs  the  leather  tobacco  pouch  from  which 
he  had  obtained  the  tobacco  to  make  his 
cigarette.  When  he  had  approached  close 
to  the  range  boss  he  held  the  pouch  up  be 
fore  his  eyes. 

"I  reckon  you'd  better  have  a  smoke,"  he 
said  quietly;  "they  say  it's  good  for  the 
nerves."  He  took  a  long  pull  at  the 
cigarette.  "It's  pretty  fair  tobacco,"  he  con 
tinued.  "I  found  it  about  ten  miles  up  the 
crick,  on  a  ridge  above  a  dry  arroyo.  I 
reckon  it's  your'n.  It's  got  your  initials  on 
it." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  in  a  silent 
battle.  Leviatt's  were  the  first  to  waver. 
Then  he  reached  out  and  took  the  pouch. 
"It's  mine,"  he  said  shortly.  Again  he  looked 
straight  at  Ferguson,  his  eyes  carrying  a 
silent  message. 

177 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

"You  see  anything  else?"  he  questioned. 

Ferguson  smiled.  "I  ain't  sayin'  any 
thing  about  anything  else,"  he  returned. 

Thus,  unsuspectingly,  did  Stafford  watch 
and  listen  while  these  two  men  arranged  to 
carry  on  their  war  man  to  man,  neither  ask 
ing  any  favor  from  the  man  who,  with  a 
word,  might  have  settled  it.  With  his  reply 
that  he  wasn't  "sayin'  anything  about  any 
thing  else,"  Ferguson  had  told  Leviatt  that 
he  had  no  intention  of  telling  his  suspicions 
to  any  man.  Nor  from  this  moment  would 
Leviatt  dare  whisper  a  derogatory  word  into 
the  manager's  ear  concerning  Ferguson. 


178 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

NOW  that  Ferguson  was  satisfied  be 
yond  doubt  that  Leviatt  had  been 
concealed  in  the  thicket  above  the 
bed  of  the  arroyo  where  he  had  come  upon 
the  dead  Two  Diamond  cow,  there  remained 
but  one  disturbing  thought:  who  was  the 
man  he  had  seen  riding  along  the  ridge  away 
from  the  arroyo?  Until  he  discovered  the 
identity  of  the  rider  he  must  remain  abso 
lutely  in  the  dark  concerning  Leviatt's  mo 
tive  in  concealing  the  name  of  this  other 
actor  in  the  incident.  He  was  positive  that 
Leviatt  knew  the  rider,  but  he  was  equally 
positive  that  Leviatt  would  keep  this  knowl 
edge  to  himself. 

But  on  this  morning  he  was  not  much  dis- 
179 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

turbed  over  the  mystery.  Other  things  were 
troubling  him.  Would  Miss  Radford  go 
riding  with  him?  Would  she  change  her 
mind  over  night  ? 

As  he  rode  he  consulted  his  silver  time- 
piece.  She  had  told  him  not  to  come  before 
ten.  The  hands  of  his  watch  pointed  to  ten 
thirty  when  he  entered  the  flat,  and  it  was 
near  eleven  when  he  rode  up  to  the  cabin 
door — to  find  Miss  Radford — arrayed  in 
riding  skirt,  dainty  boots,  gauntleted  gloves, 
blouse,  and  soft  felt  hat — awaiting  him  at 
the  door. 

"You're  late,"  she  said,  smiling  as  she 
came  out  upon  the  porch. 

If  he  had  been  less  wise  he  might  have 
told  her  that  she  had  told  him  not  to  come 
until  after  ten  and  that  he  had  noticed  that 
she  had  been  waiting  for  him  in  spite  of  her 
apparent  reluctance  of  yesterday.  But  he 
steered  carefully  away  from  this  pitfall.  He 
dismounted  and  threw  the  bridle  rein  over 
Mustard's  head,  coming  around  beside  the 
porch. 

"I  wasn't  thinkin'  to  hurry  you,  ma'am,'* 
180 


_     EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

he  said.  "But  I  reckon  we'll  go  now.  It's 
cert'nly  a  fine  day  for  ridin'."  He  stood 
silent  for  a  moment,  looking  about  him. 
Then  he  flushed.  "Why,  I'm  gettin'  right 
box-headed,  ma'am,"  he  declared.  "Here  I 
am  standin'  an'  makin'  you  sick  with  my 
palaver,  an'  your  horse  waitin'  to  be  caught 
up." 

He  stepped  quickly  to  Mustard's  side  and 
uncoiled  his  rope.  She  stood  on  the  porch, 
watching  him  as  he  proceeded  to  the  corral, 
caught  the  pony,  and  flung  a  bridle  on  it. 
Then  he  led  the  animal  to  the  porch  and 
cinched  the  saddle  carefully.  Throwing  the 
reins  over  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  he  stood 
at  the  animal's  head,  waiting. 

She  came  to  the  edge  of  the  porch,  placed 
a  slender,  booted  foot  into  the  ox-bow  stir 
rup,  and  swung  gracefully  up.  In  an  in 
stant  he  had  vaulted  into  his  own  saddle, 
and  together  they  rode  out  upon  the  gray- 
white  floor  of  the  flat. 

They  rode  two  miles,  keeping  near  the 
fringe  of  cottonwoods,  and  presently- 
mounted  a  long  slope.  Half  an  hour  later 
181 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

Miss  Radford  looked  back  and  saw  the  flat 
spread  out  behind,  silent,  vast,  deserted, 
slumbering  in  the  swimming  white  sunlight. 
A  little  later  she  looked  again,  and  the  flat 
was  no  longer  there,  for  they  had  reached 
the  crest  of  the  slope  and  their  trail  had 
wound  them  round  to  a  broad  level,  from 
which  began  another  slope,  several  miles 
distant. 

They  had  ridden  for  more  than  two  hours, 
talking  very  little,  when  they  reached  the 
crest  of  the  last  rise  and  saw,  spreading  be 
fore  them,  a  level  many  miles  wide,  stretch 
ing  away  in  three  directions.  It  was  a  grass 
plateau,  but  the  grass  was  dry  and  droop 
ing  and  rustled  under  the  ponies'  hoofs. 
There  were  no  trees,  but  a  post  oak  thicket 
skirted  the  southern  edge,  and  it  was  to 
ward  this  that  he  urged  his  pony.  She  fol 
lowed,  smiling  to  think  that  he  was  deceiving 
himself  in  believing  that  she  had  not  yet  ex 
plored  this  place. 

They  came  close  to  the  thicket,  and  he 
swung  off  his  horse  and  stood  at  her  stirrup. 

"I  was  wantin'  you  to  see  the  country 
182 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

from  here,"  he  said,  as  he  helped  her  down. 
She  watched  him  while  he  picketed  the 
horses,  so  that  they  might  not  stray.  Then 
they  went  together  to  the  edge  of  the  thicket, 
seating  themselves  in  a  welcome  shade. 

At  their  feet  the  plateau  dropped  sheer, 
as  though  cut  with  a  knife,  and  a  little  way 
out  from  the  base  lay  a  narrow  ribbon  of 
water  that  flowed  slowly  in  its  rocky  bed, 
winding  around  the  base  of  a  small  hill, 
spreading  over  a  shallow  bottom,  and  dis 
appearing  between  the  buttes  farther  down. 

Everything  beneath  them  was  distinguish 
able,  though  distant.  Knobs  rose  here; 
there  a  flat  spread.  Mountains  frowned  in 
the  distance,  but  so  far  away  that  they 
seemed  like  papier-mache  shapes  towering 
in  a  sea  of  blue.  Like  a  map  the  country 
seemed  as  Miss  Radford  and  Ferguson 
looked  down  upon  it,  yet  a  big  map,  over 
which  one  might  wonder;  more  vast,  more 
nearly  perfect,  richer  in  detail  than  any  that 
could  be  evolved  from  the  talents  of  man. 

Ridges,  valleys,  gullies,  hills,  knobs,  and 
draws  were  all  laid  out  in  a  vast  basin.  Miss 
183 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

Radford's  gaze  swept  down  into  a  section  of 
flat  near  the  river. 

"Why,  there  are  some  cattle  down  there!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Sure,"  he  returned;  "they're  Two  Dia 
mond.  Way  off  there  behind  that  ridge  is 
where  the  wagon  is."  He  pointed  to  a  long 
range  of  flat  hills  that  stretched  several 
miles.  "The  boys  that  are  workin'  on  the 
other  side  of  that  ridge  can't  see  them  cattle 
like  wre  can.  Looks  plum  re-diculous." 

"There  are  no  men  with  those  cattle  down 
there,"  she  said,  pointing  to  those  below  in 
the  flat. 

"No,"  he  returned  quietly;  "they're  all  off 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge." 

She  smiled  demurely  at  him.  "Then  wei 
won't  be  interrupted — as  we  were  yester 
day,"  she  said. 

Did  she  know  that  this  was  why  he  had 
selected  this  spot  for  the  end  of  the  ride? 
He  looked  quickly  at  her,  but  answered 
slowly. 

"They  couldn't  see  us,"  he  said.  "If  we 
was  out  in  the  open  we'd  be  right  on  the 
184 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

skyline.  Then  anyone  could  see  us.  But 
we've  got  this  thicket  behind  us,  an'  I  reckon 
from  down  there  we'd  be  pretty  near  in^ 
visible." 

He  turned  around,  clasping  his  hands 
about  one  knee  and  looking  squarely  at  her. 
"I  expect  you  done  a  heap  with  your  book 
yesterday — after  I  went  away?" 

Her  cheeks  colored  a  little  under  his 
straight  gaze. 

"I  didn't  stay  there  long,"  she  equivo 
cated.  "But  I  got  some  very  good  ideas, 
and  I  am  glad  that  I  didn't  write  much.  I 
should  have  had  to  destroy  it,  because  I  have 
decided  upon  a  different  beginning.  Ben 
made  the  trip  to  Dry  Bottom  yesterday, 
and  last  night  he  told  something  that  had 
happened  there  that  has  given  me  some  very 
good  material  for  a  beginning." 

"That's  awful  interestin',"  he  observed. 
"So  now  you'll  be  able  to  start  your  book 
with  somethin'  that  really  happened?" 

"Real  and  original,"  she  returned,  with 
a  quick  glance  at  him.  "Ben  told  me  that 
about  a  month  ago  some  men  had  a  shooting 
185 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

match  in  Dry  Bottom.  They  used  a  can  for 
a  target,  and  one  man  kept  it  in  the  air  until 
he  put  six  bullet  holes  through  it.  Ben  says 
he  is  pretty  handy  with  his  weapons,  but  he 
could  never  do  that.  He  insists  that  few 
men  can,  and  he  is  inclined  to  think  that  the 
man  who  did  do  it  must  have  been  a  gun- 
fighter.  I  suppose  you  have  never  tried  it?" 

Over  his  lips  while  she  had  been  speaking 
had  crept  the  slight  mocking  smile  which 
always  told  better  than  words  of  the  cold 
cynicism  that  moved  him  at  times.  Did  she 
know  anything?  Did  she  suspect  him?  The 
smile  masked  an  interest  that  illumined  his 
eyes  very  slightly  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"I  expect  that  is  plum  slick  shootin',"  he 
returned  slowly.  "But  some  men  can  do  it. 
I've  knowed  them.  But  I  ain't  heard  that 
it's  been  done  lately  in  this  here  country.  I 
reckon  Ben  told  you  somethin'  of  how  this 
man  looked?" 

He  had  succeeded  in  putting  the  question 
very  casually,  and  she  had  not  caught  the 
note  of  deep  interest  in  his  voice. 

"Why  it's  very  odd,"  she  said,  looking  him 
186 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

over  carefully;  "from  Ben's  description  I 
should  assume  that  the  man  looked  very  like 
you!" 

If  her  reply  had  startled  him  he  gave 
little  evidence  of  it.  He  sat  perfectly  quiet, 
gazing  with  steady  eyes  out  over  the  big 
basin.  For  a  time  she  sat  silent  also,  her 
gaze  following  his.  Then  she  turned. 

"That  would  be  odd,  wouldn't  it?"  she 
said. 

"What  would?"  he  answered,  not  looking 
at  her. 

"Why,  if  you  were  the  man  who  had  done 
that  shooting !  It  would  follow  out  the  idea 
of  my  plot  perfectly.  For  in  my  story  the 
hero  is  hired  to  shoot  a  supposed  rustler, 
and  of  course  he  would  have  to  be  a  good 
shot.  And  since  Ben  has  told  me  the  story 
of  the  shooting  match  I  have  decided  that 
the  hero  in  my  story  shall  be  tested  in  that 
manner  before  being  employed  to  shoot  the 
rustler.  Then  he  comes  to  the  supposed 
rustler's  cabin  and  meets  the  heroine,  in 
much  the  same  manner  that  you  came.  Now 
if  it  should  turn  out  that  you  were  the  man 
187 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

who  did  the  shooting  in  Dry  Bottom  my 
story  up  to  this  point  would  be  very  nearly 
real.  And  that  would  be  fine!" 

She  had  allowed  a  little  enthusiasm  to 
creep  into  her  voice,  and  he  looked  up  at  her 
quickly,  a  queer  expression  in  his  eyes. 

"You  goin'  to  have  your  'two-gun'  man 
bit  by  a  rattler?"  he  questioned. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  It  would 
make  very  little  difference.  But  I  should 
be  delighted  to  find  that  you  were  the  man 
who  did  the  shooting  over  at  Dry  Bottom. 
Say  that  you  are!" 

Even  now  he  could  not  tell  whether  there 
was  subtlety  in  her  voice.  The  old  doubt 
rose  again  in  his  mind.  Was  she  really 
serious  in  saying  that  she  intended  putting 
all  this  in  her  story,  or  was  this  a  ruse,  con 
cealing  an  ulterior  purpose?  Suppose  she 
and  her  brother  suspected  him  of  being  the 
man  who  had  participated  in  the  shooting 
match  in  Dry  Bottom?  Suppose  the 
brother,  or  she,  had  invented  this  tale  about 
the  book  to  draw  him  out?  He  was  moved 
to  an  inward  humor,  amused  to  think  that 
188 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

either  of  them  should  imagine  him  shallow 
enough  to  be  caught  thus. 

But  what  if  they  did  catch  him?  Would 
they  gain  by  it?  They  could  gain  nothing, 
but  the  knowledge  would  serve  to  put  them 
on  their  guard.  But  if  she  did  suspect  him, 
what  use  was  there  in  evasion  or  denial  ?  He 
smiled  whimsically. 

"I  reckon  your  story  is  goin'  to  be  real  up 
to  this  point,"  he  returned.  "A  while  back 
I  did  shoot  at  a  can  in  Dry  Bottom." 

She  gave  an  exclamation  of  delight. 
"Now,  isn't  that  marvelous?  No  one  shall 
be  able  to  say  that  my  beginning  will  be 
strictly  fiction."  She  leaned  closer  to  him, 
her  eyes  alight  with  eagerness.  "Now  please 
don't  say  that  you  are  the  man  who  shot  the 
can  five  times,"  she  pleaded.  "I  shouldn't 
want  my  hero  to  be  beaten  at  anything  he 
undertook.  But  I  know  that  you  were  not 
beaten.  Were  you?" 

He  smiled  gravely.  "I  reckon  I  wasn't 
beat,"  he  returned. 

She  sat  back  and  surveyed  him  with  satis 
faction. 

189 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"I  knew  it,"  she  stated,  as  though  in  her 
mind  there  had  never  existed  any  doubt  of 
the  fact.  "Now,"  she  said,  plainly  pleased 
over  the  result  of  her  questioning,  "I  shall 
be  able  to  proceed,  entirely  confident  that 
my  hero  will  be  able  to  give  a  good  account 
of  himself  in  any  situation." 

Her  eyes  baffled  him.  He  gave  up  watch 
ing  her  and  turned  to  look  at  the  world  be 
neath  him.  He  would  have  given  much  to 
know  her  thoughts.  She  had  said  that  from 
her  brother's  description  of  the  man  who  had 
won  the  shooting  match  at  Dry  Bottom  she 
would  assume  that  that  man  had  looked  very 
like  him.  Did  her  brother  hold  this  opinion 
also? 

Ferguson  cared  very  little  if  he  did.  He 
was  accustomed  to  danger,  and  he  had  gone 
into  this  business  with  his  eyes  open.  And 

if  Ben  did  know Unconsciously  his 

lips  straightened  and  his  chin  went  forward 
slightly,  giving  his  face  an  expression  of 
hardness  that  made  him  look  ten  years  older. 
Watching  him,  the  girl  drew  a  slow,  full 
breath.  It  was  a  side  of  his  character  with 
190 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

which  she  was  as  yet  unacquainted,  and  she 
marveled  over  it,  comparing  it  to  the  side 
she  already  knew — the  side  that  he  had 
shown  her — quiet,  thoughtful,  subtle.  And 
now  at  a  glance  she  saw  him  as  men  knew 
him — unyielding,  unafraid,  indomitable. 

Yet  there  was  much  in  this  sudden  revela 
tion  of  character  to  admire.  She  liked  a 
man  whom  other  men  respected  for  the  very 
traits  that  his  expression  had  revealed.  No 
man  would  be  likely  to  adopt  an  air  of 
superiority  toward  him ;  none  would  attempt 
to  trifle  with  him.  She  felt  that  she  ought 
not  to  trifle,  but  moved  by  some  unaccount 
able  impulse,  she  laughed. 

He  turned  his  head  at  the  laugh  and 
looked  quizzically  at  her. 

"I  hope  you  were  not  thinking  of  killing 
some  one?"  she  taunted. 

His  right  hand  slowly  clenched.  Some 
thing  metallic  suddenly  glinted  his  eyes,  to 
be  succeeded  instantly  by  a  slight  mockery. 
"You  afraid  some  one's  goin'  to  be  killed?" 
he  inquired  slowly. 

"Well — no,"  she  returned,  startled  by  the 
191 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

question.  "But  you  looked  so — so  deter 
mined  that  I — I  thought " 

He  suddenly  seized  her  arm  and  drew  her 
around  so  that  she  faced  the  little  stretch  of 
plain  near  the  ridge  about  which  they  had 
been  speaking  previously.  His  lips  were  in 
straight  lines  again,  his  eyes  gleaming  in 
terestedly. 

"You  see  that  man  down  there  among 
them  cattle?"  he  questioned. 

Following  his  gaze,  she  saw  a  man  among 
perhaps  a  dozen  cattle.  At  the  moment  she 
looked  the  man  had  swung  a  rope,  and  she 
saw  the  loop  fall  true  over  the  head  of  a  cow 
the  man  had  selected,  saw  the  pony  pivot  and 
drag  the  cow  prone.  Then  the  man  dis 
mounted,  ran  swiftly  to  the  side  of  the  fallen 
cow,  and  busied  himself  about  her  hind 
legs. 

"What  is  he  doing?"  she  asked,  a  sudden 
excitement  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"He's  hog-tieing  her  now,"  returned  Fer 
guson. 

She  knew  what  that  meant.  She  had  seen 
Ben  throw  cattle  in  this  manner  when  he 
192 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

was  branding  them.  "Hog-tieing"  meant 
binding  their  hind  legs  with  a  short  piece  of 
rope  to  prevent  struggling  while  the  brand 
was  being  applied. 

Apparently  this  was  what  the  man  was 
preparing  to  do.  Smoke  from  a  nearby  fire 
curled  lazily  upward,  and  about  this  fire  the 
man  now  worked — evidently  turning  some 
branding  irons.  He  gave  some  little  time  to 
this,  and  while  Miss  Radford  watched  she 
heard  Ferguson's  voice  again. 

"I  reckon  we're  goin'  to  see  some  fun 
pretty  soon,"  he  said  quietly. 

NWhy?"  she  inquired  quickly. 

He  smiled.  "Do  you  see  that  man  ridin' 
through  that  break  on  the  ridge?"  he  asked, 
pointing  the  place  out  to  her.  She  nodded, 
puzzled  by  his  manner.  He  continued  dryly. 

"Well,  if  that  man  that's  comin'  through 
the  break  is  what  he  ought  to  be  he'll  be 
shootin'  pretty  soon." 

"Why?"  she  gasped,  catching  at  his 
sleeve,  "why  should  he  shoot?" 

He  laughed  again — grimly.  "Well,"  he  re 
turned,  "if  a  puncher  ketches  a  rustler  with 
193 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

the  goods  on  he's  got  a  heap  of  right  to  do 
some  shootin'." 

She  shuddered.  "And  do  you  think  that 
man  among  the  cattle  is  a  rustler?"  she 
asked. 

"Wait,"  he  advised,  peering  intently  to 
ward  the  ridge.  "Why,"  he  continued  pres 
ently,  "there's  another  man  ridin'  this  way. 
An'  he's  hidin'  from  the  other — keepin'  in 
the  gullies  an'  the  draws  so's  the  first  man 
can't  see  him  if  he  looks  back."  He  laughed 
softly.  "It's  plum  re-diculous.  Here  we 
are,  able  to  see  all  that's  goin'  on  down  there 
an'  not  able  to  take  a  hand  in  it.  An'  there's 
them  three  goin'  ahead  with  what  they're 
thinkin'  about,  not  knowin'  that  we're  watch- 
in'  them,  an'  two  of  them  not  knowin'  that 
the  third  man  is  watchin'.  I'd  call  that  plum 
re-diculous." 

The  first  man  was  still  riding  through  the 
break  in  the  ridge,  coming  boldly,  apparent 
ly  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  man 
among  the  cattle,  who  was  well  concealed 
from  the  first  man's  eyes  by  a  rocky  promon 
tory  at  the  corner  of  the  break.  The  third 
194 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

man  was  not  over  an  eighth  of  a  mile  behind 
the  first  man,  and  riding  slowly  and  care 
fully.  At  the  rate  the  first  man  was  riding 
not  five  minutes  would  elapse  before  he 
would  come  out  into  the  plain  full  upon  the 
point  where  the  man  among  the  cattle  was 
working  at  his  fire. 

Ferguson  and  Miss  Radford  watched  the 
scene  with  interest.  Plainly  the  first  man 
was  intruding.  Or  if  not,  he  was  the 
rustler's  confederate  and  the  third  man  was 
spying  upon  him.  Miss  Radford  and  Fer 
guson  were  to  discover  the  key  to  the  situa 
tion  presently. 

"Do  you  think  that  man  among  the  cattle 
is  a  rustler?"  questioned  Miss  Radford.  In 
her  excitement  she  had  pressed  very  close 
to  Ferguson  and  was  clutching  his  arm 
very  tightly. 

"I  reckon  he  is,"  returned  Ferguson.  "I 
ain't  rememberin'  that  any  ranch  has  cows 
that  run  the  range  unbranded;  especially 
when  the  cow  has  got  a  calf,  unless  that  cow 
is  a  maverick,  an'  that  ain't  likely,  since  she's 
runnin'  with  the  Two  Diamond  bunch." 
195 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

He  leaned  forward,  for  the  man  had  left 
the  fire  and  was  running  toward  the  fallen 
cow.  Once  at  her  side  the  man  bent  over 
her,  pressing  the  hot  irons  against  the  bot 
toms  of  her  hoofs.  A  thin  wreath  of  smoke 
curled  upward;  the  cow  struggled. 

Ferguson  looked  at  Miss  Radford. 
"Burnt  her  hoofs,"  he  said  shortly,  "so  she 
can't  follow  when  he  runs  her  calf  off." 

"The  brute!"  declared  Miss  Radford,  her 
face  paling  with  anger. 

The  man  was  fumbling  with  the  rope  that 
bound  the  cow's  legs,  when  the  first  man 
rode  around  the  edge  of  the  break  and  came 
full  upon  him.  From  the  distance  at  which 
Miss  Radford  and  Ferguson  watched  they 
could  not  see  the  expression  of  either  man's 
face,  but  they  saw  the  rustler's  right  hand 
move  downward;  saw  his  pistol  glitter  in 
the  sunlight. 

But  the  pistol  was  not  raised.  The  first 
man's  pistol  had  appeared  just  a  fraction  of 
a  second  sooner,  and  they  saw  that  it  was 
[poised,  menacing  the  rustler. 

For  an  instant  the  two  men  were  motion- 
196 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

less.  Ferguson  felt  the  grasp  on  his  arm 
tighten,  and  he  turned  his  head  to  see  Miss 
Bedford's  face,  pale  and  drawn;  her  eyes 
lifted  to  his  with  a  slow,  dawning  horror  in 
them. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "They  are  going  to 
shoot!"  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  Fer 
guson's  arm  and  held  it,  with  the  other,  to 
her  ears,  cringing  away  from  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  She  waited,  breathless,  for — it  seemed 
to  her — the  space  of  several  minutes,  her 
head  turned  from  the  men,  her  eyes  closed 
for  fear  that  she  might,  in  the  dread  of  the 
moment,  look  toward  the  plain.  She  kept 
telling  herself  that  she  would  not  turn,  but 
presently,  in  spite  of  her  determination,  the 
suspense  was  too  great,  and  she  turned 
quickly  and  fearfully,  expecting  to  see  at 
least  one  riderless  horse.  That  would  have 
been  horrible  enough. 

To  her  surprise  both  men  still  kept  the 
positions  that  they  had  held  when  she  had 
turned  away.  The  newcomer's  revolver  still 
menaced  the  rustler.  She  looked  up  into 
Ferguson's  face,  to  see  a  grim  smile  on  it,  to 
197 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

see  his  eyes,  chilled  and  narrowed,  fixed 
steadily  upon  the  two  horsemen. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  "is  it  over?" 

Ferguson  heard  the  question,  and  smiled 
mirthlessly  without  turning  his  head. 

"I  reckon  it  ain't  over — yet,"  he  returned. 
"But  I  expect  it'll  be  over  pretty  soon,  if 
that  guy  that's  got  his  gun  on  the  rustler 
don't  get  a  move  on  right  quick.  That  other 
guy  is  comin'  around  the  corner  of  that 
break,  an'  if  he's  the  rustler's  friend  that 
man  with  the  gun  will  get  his  pretty  rapid." 
His  voice  raised  a  trifle,  a  slightly  anxious 
note  in  it. 

"Why  don't  the  damn  fool  turn  around? 
He  could  see  that  last  man  now  if  he  did. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  Fer 
guson's  voice  was  sharp  and  tense,  and,  in 
spite  of  herself,  Miss  Radf ord's  gaze  shifted 
again  to  the  plains  below  her.  Fascinated, 
her  fear  succumbing  to  the  intense  interest 
of  the  moment,  she  followed  the  movements 
of  the  trio. 

From  around  the  corner  of  the  break  the 
third  man  had  ridden.  He  was  not  over  a 
198 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

hundred  feet  from  the  man  who  had  caught 
the  rustler  and  he  was  walking  his  horse 
now.  The  watchers  on  the  edge  of  the 
plateau  could  see  that  he  had  taken  in  the 
situation  and  was  stealing  upon  the  captor, 
who  sat  in  his  saddle,  his  back  to  the  ad 
vancing  rider. 

Drawing  a  little  closer,  the  third  man 
stealthily  dropped  from  his  pony  and  crept 
forward.  The  significance  of  this  movement 
dawned  upon  Miss  Radford  in  a  flash,  and 
she  again  seized  Ferguson's  arm,  tugging  at 
it  fiercely. 

"Why,  he's  going  to  kill  that  man!"  she 
cried.  "Can't  you  do  something?  For 
mercy's  sake  do!  Shout,  or  shoot  off  your 
pistol — do  something  to  warn  him!" 

Ferguson  flashed  a  swift  glance  at  her, 
and  she  saw  that  his  face  wore  a  queer  pallor. 
His  expression  had  grown  grimmer,  but  he 
smiled — a  little  sadly,  she  thought. 

"It  ain't  a  bit  of  use  tryin'  to  do  any 
thing,"  he  returned,  his  gaze  again  on  the 
men.  "We're  two  miles  from  them  men  an' 
a  thousand  feet  above  them.  There  ain't  any 
199 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

pistol  report  goin'  to  stop  what's  goin'  on 
down  there.  All  we  can  do  is  to  watch. 
Mebbe  we  can  recognize  one  of  them. 
...  .  .  Shucks!" 

The  exclamation  was  called  from  him  by 
a  sudden  movement  on  the  part  of  the  cap 
tor.  The  third  man  must  have  made  a  noise, 
for  the  captor  turned  sharply.  At  the  in 
stant  he  did  so  the  rustler's  pistol  flashed  in 
the  sunlight. 

The  watchers  on  the  plateau  did  not  hear 
the  report  at  once,  and  when  they  did  it  came 
to  them  only  faintly — a  slight  sound  which 
was  barely  distinguishable.  But  they  saw  a 
sudden  spurt  of  flame  and  smoke.  The 
captor  reeled  drunkenly  in  his  saddle,  caught 
blindly  at  the  pommel,  and  then  slid  slowly 
down  into  the  grass  of  the  plains. 

Ferguson  drew  a  deep  breath  and,  turn 
ing,  looked  sharply  at  Miss  Radford.  She 
had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  was 
swaying  dizzily.  He  was  up  from  the  rock 
in  a  flash  and  was  supporting  her,  leading 
her  away  from  the  edge  of  the  plateau.  She 
went  unresisting,  her  slender  figure  shudder- 
200 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

ing  spasmodically,  her  hands  still  covering 
her  face. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  as  the  horror  of  the 
scene  rose  in  her  mind.  "The  brutes!  The 
brutes!" 

Feeling  that  if  he  kept  quiet  she  would 
recover  from  the  shock  of  the  incident 
sooner,  Ferguson  said  nothing  in  reply  to 
her  outbreaks  as  he  led  her  toward  the 
ponies.  For  a  moment  after  reaching  them 
she  leaned  against  her  animal's  shoulder, 
her  face  concealed  from  Ferguson  by  the 
pony's  mane.  Then  he  was  at  her  side, 
speaking  firmly. 

"You  must  get  away  from  here,"  he  said, 
"I  ought  to  have  got  you  away  before — be 
fore  that  happened." 

She  looked  up,  showing  him  a  pair  of 
wide,  dry  eyes,  in  which  there  was  still  a 
trace  of  horror.  An  expression  of  grave 
self-accusation  shone  in  his. 

"You  were  not  to  blame,"  she  said  dully. 

"You  may  have  anticipated  a  meeting  of 

those  men,  but  you  could  not  have  foreseen 

the  end.    Oh!"  She  shuddered  again.    "To 

201 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

think  of  seeing  a  man  deliberately  mur 
dered!" 

"That's  just  what  it  was,"  he  returned 
quietly;  "just  plain  murder.  They  had  him 
between  them.  He  didn't  have  a  chance. 
He  was  bound  to  get  it  from  one  or  the 
other.  Looks  like  they  trapped  him;  run 
him  down  there  on  purpose."  He  held  her 
stirrup. 

"I  reckon  you've  seen  enough,  ma'am," 
he  added.  "You'd  better  hop  right  on  your 
horse  an'  get  back  to  Bear  Flat." 

She  shivered  and  raised  her  head,  looking 
at  him — a  flash  of  fear  in  her  eyes.  "You 
are  going  down  there!"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
dilating. 

He  laughed  grimly.  "I  cert'nly  am, 
ma'am,"  he  returned.  "You'd  better  go 
right  off.  I'm  ridin'  down  there  to  see  how 
bad  that  man  is  hit." 

She  started  toward  him,  protesting. 
"Why,  they  will  kill  you,  too !"  she  declared. 

He  laughed  again,  with  a  sudden  grim 
humor.     "There  ain't  any  danger,"  he  re 
turned.    "They've  sloped." 
202 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

Involuntarily  she  looked  down.  Far  out 
on  the  plains,  through  the  break  in  the  ridge 
of  hills,  she  could  see  two  horsemen  racing 
away. 

"The  cowards!"  she  cried,  her  voice  shak 
ing  with  anger.  "To  shoot  a  man  in  cold 
blood  and  then  run!"  She  looked  at  Fer 
guson,  her  figure  stiffening  with  decision. 

"If  you  go  down  there  I  am  going,  too!" 
she  declared.  "He  might  need  some  help," 
she  added,  seeing  the  objection  in  his  eyes, 
"and  if  he  does  I  may  be  able  to  give  it  to 
him.  You  know,"  she  continued,  smiling 
wanly,  "I  have  had  some  experience  with 
sick  people." 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  silently  assisted 
her  into  the  saddle  and  swung  into  his  own. 
They  urged  the  animals  to  a  rapid  pace,  she 
following  him  eagerly. 

It  was  a  rough  trail,  leading  through 
many  gullies,  around  miniature  hills,  into 
bottoms  where  huge  boulders  and  treacher 
ous  sand  barred  the  way,  along  the  face  of 
dizzy  cliffs,  and  through  lava  beds  where  the 
footing  was  uncertain  and  dangerous.  But 
&03 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

in  an  hour  they  were  on  the  plains  and  rid 
ing  toward  the  break  in  the  ridge  of  hills, 
where  the  shooting  had  been  done. 

The  man's  pony  had  moved  off  a  little  and 
was  grazing  unconcernedly  when  they  ar 
rived.  A  brown  heap  in  the  grass  told  where 
the  man  lay,  and  presently  Ferguson  was 
down  beside  him,  one  of  his  limp  wrists  be 
tween  his  fingers.  He  stood  up  after  a 
moment,  to  confront  Miss  Radf ord,  who  had 
fallen  behind  during  the  last  few  minutes  of 
the  ride.  Ferguson's  face  was  grave,  and 
there  was  a  light  in  his  eyes  that  thrilled  her 
for  a  moment  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"He  ain't  dead,  ma'am,"  he  said  as  he  as 
sisted  her  down  from  her  pony.  "The  bullet 
got  him  in  the  shoulder." 

She  caught  a  queer  note  in  his  voice — 
something  approaching  appeal.  She  looked 
swiftly  at  him,  suspicious.  "Do  you  know 
him?"  she  asked. 

"I  reckon  I  do,  ma'am,"  he  returned. 
"It's  Rope  Jones.  Once  he  stood  by  me 
when  he  thought  I  needed  a  friend.  If 
there's  any  chance  I'm  goin'  to  get  him  to 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

your  cabin — where  you  can  take  care  of 
him  till  he  gets  over  this — if  he  ever  does." 

She  realized  now  how  this  tragedy  had 
shocked  her.  She  reeled  and  the  world  swam 
dizzily  before  her.  Again  she  saw  Fer 
guson  dart  forward,  but  she  steadied  herself 
and  smiled  reassuringly. 

"It  is  merely  the  thought  that  I  must  now 
put  my  little  knowledge  to  a  severe  test," 
she  said.  "It  rather  frightened  me.  I  don't 
know  whether  anything  can  be  done." 

She  succeeded  in  forcing  herself  to  calm 
ness  and  gave  orders  rapidly. 

"Get  something  under  his  head,"  she  com 
manded.  "No,  that  will  be  too  high,"  she 
added,  as  she  saw  Ferguson  start  to  un 
buckle  the  saddle  cinch  on  his  pony.  "Raise 
his  head  only  a  very  little.  That  round 
thing  that  you  have  fastened  to  your  saddle 
(the  slicker)  would  do  very  well.  There. 
Now  get  some  water!" 

She  was  down  beside  the  wounded  man  in 

another  instant,  cutting  away  a  section  of 

the  shirt  near  the  shoulder,  with  a  knife  that 

she  had   borrowed   from   Ferguson.     The 

205 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

wound  had  not  bled  much  and  was  lower 
than  Ferguson  had  thought.  But  she  gave 
it  what  care  she  could,  and  when  Ferguson 
arrived  with  water — from  the  river,  a  mile 
away — she  dressed  the  wound  and  applied 
water  to  Rope's  forehead. 

Soon  she  saw  that  her  efforts  were  to  be 
of  little  avail.  Rope  lay  pitifully  slack  and 
unresponsive.  At  the  end  of  an  hour's  work 
Ferguson  bent  over  her  with  a  question  on 
his  lips. 

"Do  you  reckon  he'll  come  around, 
ma'am?" 

She  shook  her  head  negatively.  "The 
bullet  has  lodged  somewhere — possibly  in  the 
lung,"  she  returned.  "It  entered  just  above 
the  heart,  and  he  has  bled  much — internally. 
He  may  never  regain  consciousness." 

Ferguson's  face  paled  with  a  sudden 
anger.  "In  that  case,  ma'am,  we'll  never 
know  who  shot  him,"  he  said  slowly.  "An' 
I'm  wantin'  to  know  that.  Couldn't  you 
fetch  him  to,  ma'am — just  long  enough  so's 
I  could  ask  him?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  slow  glance.  "I 
206 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

can  try,"  she  said.  "Is  there  any  more 
whiskey  in  your  flask?" 

He  produced  the  flask,  and  they  both  bent 
over  Rope,  forcing  a  generous  portion  of 
the  liquor  down  his  throat.  Then,  alternately 
bathing  the  wound  and  his  forehead,  they 
watched.  They  were  rewarded  presently  by 
a  faint  flicker  of  the  eyelids  and  a  slow  flow 
of  color  in  the  pale  cheeks.  Then  after  a 
little  the  eyes  opened. 

In  an  instant  Ferguson's  lips  were  close 
to  Rope's  ear.  "Who  shot  you,  Rope,  old 
man?"  he  asked  eagerly.  "You  don't  need 
to  be  afraid  to  tell  me,  it's  Ferguson." 

The  wounded  man's  eyes  were  glazed  with 
a  dull  incomprehension.  But  slowly,  as 
though  at  last  he  was  faintly  conscious  of  the 
significance  of  the  question,  his  eyes  glinted 
with  the  steady  light  of  returning  reason. 
Suddenly  he  smiled,  his  lips  opening  slight 
ly.  Both  watchers  leaned  tensely  forward 
to  catch  the  low  words. 

"Ferguson  told  me  to  look  out,"  he 
mumbled.  "He  told  me  to  be  careful  that 
they  didn't  get  me  between  them.  But  I 
207 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

wasn't  thinkin'  it  would  happen  just  that 
way."  And  now  his  eyes  opened  scornfully 
and  he  struggled  and  lifted  himself  upon 
one  arm,  gazing  at  some  imaginary  object. 

"Why,"  he  said  slowly  and  distinctly,  his 
voice  cold  and  metallic,  "you're  a  hell  of  a 

range  boss!  Why  you !"  he  broke  off 

suddenly,  his  eyes  fixed  full  upon  Miss  Rad- 
ford.  "Why,  it's  a  woman!  An'  I  thought 
• Why,  ma'am,"  he  went  on,  apologeti 
cally,  "I  didn't  know  you  was  there !  .  .  .1 
But  you  ain't  goin'  to  run  off  no  calf  while 
I'm  lookin'  at  you.  Shucks!  Won't  the  OF 
Man  be  some  surprised  to  know  that  Tuc 
son  an' " 

He  shuddered  spasmodically  and  sat  erect 
with  a  great  effort. 

"You've  got  me,  damn  you!"  he  sneered. 
"But  you  won't  never  get  anyone " 

He  swung  his  right  hand  over  his  head,  as 
though  the  hand  held  a  pistol.  But  the  arm 
suddenly  dropped,  he  shuddered  again,  and 
sank  slowly  back — his  eyes  wide  and  star 
ing,  but  unseeing. 

Ferguson  looked  sharply  at  Miss  Rad- 
208 


EDGE  OF  THE  PLATEAU 

ford,  who  was  suddenly  bending  over  the 
prostrate  man,  her  head  on  his  breast.    She 
arose  after  a  little,  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 
"He  has  gone,"  she  said  slowly. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  FREE  HAND 

IT  was  near  midnight  when  Ferguson 
rode  in  to  the  Two  Diamond  ranch- 
house  leading  Rope's  pony.  He 
carefully  unsaddled  the  two  animals  and 
let  them  into  the  corral,  taking  great  pains 
to  make  little  noise.  Rope's  saddle — a  pe 
culiar  one  with  a  high  pommel  bearing  a 
silver  plate  upon  which  the  puncher's  name 
was  engraved — he  placed  conspicuously  near 
the  door  of  the  bunkhouse.  His  own  he 
carefully  suspended  from  its  accustomed 
hook  in  the  lean-to.  Then,  still  carefully,  he 
made  his  way  inside  the  bunkhouse  and 
sought  his  bunk. 

At  dawn  he  heard  voices  outside  and  he 
arose  and  went  to  the  door.    Several  of  the 
men  were  gathered  about  the  step  talking. 
210 


A  FREE  HAND 


For  an  instant  Ferguson  stood,  his  eyes  rov 
ing  over  the  group.  'Tucson  was  not  there. 
He  went  back  into  the  bunkhouse  and 
walked  casually  about,  taking  swift  glances 
at  the  bunks  where  the  men  still  slept.  Then 
he  returned  to  the  door,  satisfied  that  Tucson 
had  not  come  in. 

When  he  reached  the  door  again  he  found 
that  the  men  of  the  group  had  discovered  the 
saddle.  One  of  them  was  saying  something 
about  it.  "That  ain't  just  the  way  I  take 
care  of  my  saddle,"  he  was  telling  the  others ; 
"leavin'  her  out  nights." 

"I  never  knowed  Rope  to  be  that  careless 
before,"  said  another. 

Ferguson  returned  to  the  bunkhouse  and 
ate  breakfast.  After  the  meal  was  finished 
he  went  out,  caught  up  Mustard,  swung  into 
the  saddle,  and  rode  down  to  the  ranchhouse 
door.  He  found  Staff ord  in  the  office.  The 
latter  greeted  the  stray -man  with  a  smile. 

"Somethin'  doin'?"    he  questioned. 

"You  might  call  it  that,"  returned  Fer 
guson.  He  went  inside  and  seated  himself 
near  Stafford's  desk. 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

"I've  come  in  to  tell  you  that  I  saw  some 
rustlers  workin'  on  the  herd  yesterday,"  he 
said. 

Stafford  sat  suddenly  erect,  his  eyes  light 
ing  interrogatively. 

"It  wasn't  Ben  Radford,"  continued  Fer 
guson,  answering  the  look.  "You'd  be  sur 
prised  if  I  told  you.  But  I  ain't  tellin' — 
now.  I'm  waitin'  to  see  if  someone  else  does. 
But  I'm  tellin'  you  this:  They  got  Rope 
Jones." 

Stafford's  face  reddened  with  anger. 
"They  got  Rope,  you  say?"  he  demanded. 
"Why,  where — damn  them!" 

"Back  of  the  ridge  about  fifteen  miles  up 
the  crick,"  returned  Ferguson.  "I  was  ridin' 
along  the  edge  of  the  plateau  an'  I  saw  a 
man  down  there  shoot  another.  I  got  down 
as  soon  as  I  could  an'  found  Rope.  There 
wasn't  nothin'  I  could  do.  So  I  planted  him 
where  I  found  him  an'  brought  his  horse 
back.  There  was  two  rustlers  there.  But 
only  one  done  the  shootin'.  I  got  the  name 
of  one." 

Stafford  cursed.    "I'm  wantin'  to  know 


A  FREE  HAND 


who  it  was!"  he  demanded.  "I'll  make  him 
> — why,  damn  him,  I'll " 

"You're  carryin'  on  awful,"  observed  Fer 
guson  dryly.  "But  you  ain't  doin'  any 
good."  He  leaned  closer  to  Stafford.  "I'm 
quittin'  my  job  right  now,"  he  said. 

Stafford  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  surprised 
into  silence.  For  an  instant  he  glared  at  the 
stray-man,  and  then  his  lips  curled  scorn 
fully. 

"So  you're  quittin',''  he  sneered;  "scared 
plum  out  because  you  seen  a  man  put  out  of 
business !  I  reckon  Leviatt  wasn't  far  wrong 
when  he  said " 

"I  wouldn't  say  a  lot,"  interrupted  Fer 
guson  coldly.  "I  ain't  admittin'  that  I'm 
any  scared.  An'  I  ain't  carin'  a  heap  be 
cause  Leviatt's  been  gassin'  to  you.  But 
I'm  quittin'  the  job  you  give  me.  Ben  Rad- 
ford  ain't  the  man  who's  been  rustlin'  your 
cattle.  It's  someone  else.  I'm  askin'  you  to 
hire  me  to  find  out  whoever  it  is.  I'm  want- 
in'  a  free  hand.  I  don't  want  anyone  askin' 
me  any  questions.  I  don't  want  anyone 
orderin'  me  around.  But  if  you  want  the 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

men  who  are  rustlin'  your  cattle,  I'm  off  erin' 
to  do  the  job.  Do  I  get  it?" 

"You're  keepin'  right  on — workin'  for  the 
Two  Diamond,"  returned  Stafford.  "But 
I'd  like  to  get  hold  of  the  man  who  got 
Rope." 

Ferguson  smiled  grimly.  "That  man'll  be 
gittin'  his  some  day,"  he  declared,  rising. 
"I'm  keepin'  him  for  myself.  Mebbe  I 
won't  shoot  him.  I  reckon  Rope'd  be  some 
tickled  if  he'd  know  that  the  man  who  shot 
him  could  get  a  chance  to  think  it  over  while 
some  man  was  stringin'  him  up.  You  ain't 
sayin'  anything  about  anything." 

He  turned  and  went  out.  Five  minutes 
later  Stafford  saw  him  riding  slowly  to 
ward  the  river. 

As  the  days  went  a  mysterious  word  be 
gan  to  be  spoken  wherever  men  congre 
gated.  No  man  knew  whence  the  word  had 
come,  but  it  was  whispered  that  Rope  Jones 
would  be  seen  no  more.  His  pony  joined 
the  remuda;  his  saddle  and  other  personal 
effects  became  prizes  for  which  the  men  of 


A  FREE  HAND 


the  outfit  cast  lots.  Inquiries  were  made 
concerning  the  puncher  by  friends  who  per 
sisted  in  being  inquisitive,  but  nothing  re 
sulted.  In  time  the  word  "rustler"  became 
associated  with  his  name,  and  "caught  with 
the  goods"  grew  to  be  a  phrase  that  told 
eloquently  of  the  manner  of  his  death. 
Later  it  was  whispered  that  Leviatt  and 
Tucson  had  come  upon  Rope  behind  the 
ridge,  catching  him  in  the  act  of  running  off 
a  Two  Diamond  calf.  But  as  no  report  had 
been  made  to  Stafford  by  either  Leviatt  or 
Tucson,  the  news  remained  merely  rumor. 

Ferguson  had  said  nothing  more  to  any 
man  concerning  the  incident.  To  do  so  would 
have  warned  Tucson.  And  neither  Fer 
guson  nor  Miss  Radford  could  have  sworn 
to  the  man's  guilt.  In  addition  to  this,  there 
lingered  in  Ferguson's  mind  a  desire  to  play 
this  game  in  his  own  way.  Telling  the  men 
of  the  outfit  what  he  had  seen  would  make 
his  knowledge  common  property — and  in  the 
absence  of  proof  might  cause  him  to  appear 
ridiculous. 

But  since  the  shooting  he  had  little  doubt 
215 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

that  Leviatt  had  been  Tucson's  companion 
on  that  day.  Rope's  scathing  words — • 
spoken  while  Miss  Radf ord  had  been  trying 
to  revive  him — .  "You're  a  hell  of  a  range 
boss,"  had  convinced  the  stray-man  that 
Leviatt  had  been  one  of  the  assailants.  He 
had  wondered  much  over  the  emotions  of  the 
two  when  they  returned  to  the  spot  where 
the  murder  had  been  committed,  to  find  their 
victim  buried  and  his  horse  gone.  But  of 
one  thing  he  was  certain — their  surprise  over 
the  discovery  that  the  body  of  their  victim 
had  been  buried  could  not  have  equalled 
their  discomfiture  on  learning  that  the 
latter's  pony  had  been  secretly  brought  to 
the  home  ranch,  and  that  among  the  men  of 
the  outfit  was  one,  at  least,  who  knew  some 
thing  of  their  guilty  secret.  Ferguson 
thought  this  to  be  the  reason  that  they  had 
not  reported  the  incident  to  Stafford. 

There  was  now  nothing  for  the  stray-man 
to  do  but  watch.  The  men  who  had  killed 
Rope  were  wary  and  dangerous,  and  their 
next  move  might  be  directed  at  him.  But  he 
was  not  disturbed.  One  thought  brought 
216 


A  FREE  HAND 


him  a  mighty  satisfaction.  He  was  no 
longer  employed  to  fasten  upon  Ben  Rad- 
ford  the  stigma  of  guilt;  no  longer  need  he 
feel  oppressed  with  the  guilty  consciousness, 
when  in  the  presence  of  Mary  Radford,  that 
he  was,  in  a  measure,  a  hired  spy  whose  busi 
ness  it  was  to  convict  her  brother  of  the  crime 
of  rustling.  He  might  now  meet  the  young 
woman  face  to  face,  without  experiencing 
the  sensation  of  guilt  that  had  always  af 
fected  him. 

Beneath  his  satisfaction  lurked  a  deeper 
emotion.  During  the  course  of  his  acquaint 
ance  with  Rope  Jones  he  had  developed  a 
sincere  affection  for  the  man.  The  grief  in 
his  heart  over  Rope's  death  was  made  more 
poignant  because  of  the  latter's  words,  just 
before  the  final  moment,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  a  plea  for  vengeance : 

"Ferguson  told  me  to  look  out.  He  told 
me  to  be  careful  that  they  didn't  get  me  be 
tween  them.  But  I  wasn't  thinkin'  that  it 
would  happen  just  that  way." 

This  had  been  all  that  Rope  had  said 
about  his  friend,  but  it  showed  that  during 
217 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

his  last  conscious  moments  he  had  been 
thinking  of  the  stray-man.  As  the  days 
passed  the  words  dwelt  continually  in  Fer 
guson's  mind.  Each  day  that  he  rode 
abroad,  searching  for  evidence  against  the 
murderers,  brought  him  a  day  nearer  to  the 
vengeance  upon  which  he  had  determined. 


218 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LEVIATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

MISS  RADFORD  was  sitting  on  the 
flat  rock  on  the  hill  where  she  had 
written  the  first  page  of  her  novel. 
The  afternoon  sun  was  coming  slantwise 
over  the  western  mountains,  sinking  steadily 
toward  the  rift  out  of  which  came  the  rose 
veil  that  she  had  watched  many  times.  She 
had  just  completed  a  paragraph  in  which 
the  villain  appears  when  she  became  aware 
of  someone  standing  near.  She  turned 
swiftly,  with  heightened  color,  to  see 
Leviatt. 

His  sudden  appearance  gave  her  some 
thing  of  a  shock,  for  as  he  stood  there,  smil 
ing  at  her,  he  answered  perfectly  the  descrip 
tion  she  had  just  written.  He  might  have 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

just  stepped  from  one  of  her  pages.  But  the 
shock  passed,  leaving  her  a  little  pale,  but 
quite  composed — and  not  a  little  annoyed. 
She  had  found  her  work  interesting ;  she  had 
become  quite  absorbed  in  it.  Therefore  she 
failed  to  appreciate  Leviatt's  sudden  ap 
pearance,  and  with  uptilted  chin  turned 
from  him  and  pretended  an  interest  in  the 
rim  of  hills  that  surrounded  the  flat. 

For  an  instant  Leviatt  stood,  a  frown 
wrinkling  his  forehead.  Then  with  a  smile 
he  stepped  forward  and  seated  himself  be 
side  her  on  the  rock.  She  immediately  drew 
her  skirts  close  to  her  and  shot  a  displeased 
glance  at  him  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 
Then  seeing  that  he  still  sat  there,  she 
moved  her  belongings  a  few  feet  and  fol 
lowed  them.  He  could  not  doubt  the 
significance  of  this  move,  but  had  he  been 
wise  he  might  have  ignored  it.  A  woman's 
impulses  will  move  her  to  rebuke  a  man,  but 
if  he  will  accept  without  comment  he  may  be 
reasonably  sure  of  her  pity,  and  pity  is  a 
path  of  promise. 

But  the  range  boss  neglected  his  oppor- 
220 


LEFIATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

tunity.  He  made  the  mistake  of  thinking 
that  because  he  had  seen  her  many  times 
while  visiting  her  brother  he  might  now  with 
propriety  assume  an  air  of  intimacy  toward 
her. 

"I  reckon  this  rock  is  plenty  big  enough 
for  both  of  us,"  he  said  amiably. 

She  measured  the  distance  between  them 
with  a  calculating  eye.  "It  is,"  she  returned 
quietly,  "if  you  remain  exactly  where  you 


are." 


He  forced  a  smile.  "An'  if  I  don't?"  he 
inquired. 

"You  may  have  the  rock  to  yourself,"  she 
returned  coldly.  "I  did  not  ask  you  to  come 
here." 

He  chose  to  ignore  this  hint,  telling  her 
that  he  had  been  to  the  cabin  to  see  Ben  and, 
finding  him  absent,  had  ridden  through  the 
flat.  "I  saw  you  when  I  was  quite  a  piece 
away,"  he  concluded,  "an'  thought  mebbe 
you  might  be  lonesome." 

"When  I  am  lonesome  I  choose  my  own 
company,"  she  returned  coldly. 

"Why,  sure,"  he  said,  his  tone  slightly 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

sarcastic;  "you  cert'nly  ought  to  know  who 
you  want  to  talk  to.  But  you  ain't  objectin' 
to  me  settin'  on  this  hill?"  he  inquired. 

"The  hill  is  not  mine,"  she  observed  quiet 
ly,  examining  one  of  the  written  pages  of 
her  novel;  "sit  here  as  long  as  you  like." 

"Thanks."  He  drawled  the  word.  Lean 
ing  back  on  one  elbow  he  stretched  out  as 
though  assured  that  she  would  make  no  fur 
ther  objections  to  his  presence.  She  ignored 
him  completely  and  very  deliberately  ar 
ranged  her  papers  and  resumed  writing. 

For  a  time  he  lay  silent,  watching  the 
pencil  travel  the  width  of  the  page — and 
then  back.  A  mass  of  completed  manuscript 
lay  at  her  side,  the  pages  covered  with  care 
fully  written,  legible  words.  She  had  al 
ways  taken  a  pardonable  pride  in  her  pen 
manship.  For  a  while  he  watched  her, 
puzzled,  furtively  trying  to  decipher  some 
of  the  words  that  appeared  upon  the  pages. 
But  the  distance  was  too  great  for  him  and 
he  finally  gave  it  up  and  fell  to  looking  at 
her  instead,  though  determined  to  solve  the 
wordy  mystery  that  was  massed  near  her. 
222 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

Finally  finding  the  silence  irksome,  he 
dropped  an  experimental  word,  speaking 
casually.  "You  must  have  been  to  school  a 
heap — writin'  like  you  do." 

She  gave  him  no  answer,  being  at  that 
moment  absorbed  in  a  thought  which  she  was 
trying  to  transcribe  before  it  should  take 
wings  and  be  gone  forever. 

"Writin'  comes  easy  to  some  people,"  he 
persisted. 

The  thought  had  been  set  down;  she 
turned  very  slightly.  "Yes,"  she  said  look 
ing  steadily  at  him,  "it  does.  So  does  im 
pertinence." 

He  smiled  easily.  "I  ain't  aimin'  to  be 
impertinent,"  he  returned.  "I  wouldn't 
reckon  that  askin'  you  what  you  are  writin' 
would  be  impertinent.  It's  too  long  for  a 
letter." 

"It  is  a  novel,"  she  returned  shortly. 

He  smiled,  exulting  over  this  partial  con 
cession.  "I  reckon  to  write  a  book  you  must 
be  some  special  kind  of  a  woman,"  he  ob 
served  admiringly. 

She  was  silent.    He  sat  up  and  leaned  to- 


rui:  riro-(;ry  MAX 

ward  her,  his  eyes  flashing  with  a  sudden 


"If  that's  it,"  he  said  with  unmistakable 

significance,  "I  don't  mind  tellin"  you  that 
I'm  some  partial  to  them  special  kind." 

Her  chin  lose  a  little.  "1  am  not  con 
cerned  over  your  feelings."  she  returned 
without  looking  at  him. 

"That  kind  of  a  woman  would  naturally 
know  a  heap,"  he  went  on,  apparently  un 
mindful  of  the  rebuke:  "they'd  eert'nly 
know  enough  to  be  able  to  see  when  a  man 
likes  them." 

She  evidently  understood  the  drift,  for  her 
eyes  glowed  subtly.  "It  is  too  bad  that  you 
are  not  a  'special  kind  of  man,'  then,"  she 
replied. 

"Meanin'?"  he  questioned,  his  eyes  glint 
ing  with  eagerness. 

"Meaning  that  it'  you  were  a  'special  kind 
of  man'  you  would  be  able  to  tell  when  a 
woman  doesn't  like  you,"  she  said  coldly. 

"I  reckon  that  I  ain't  a  special  kind  then," 
he  declared,  his  face  reddening  slightly.  "Of 
course.  I've  seen  that  you  ain't  appeared  to 

4.JOJ. 

,-».-».:* 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

take  much  of  a  shine  to  me.    But  I've  heard 

that  there's  women  that  can  be  won  if  a  man 
ke'-ps  at  it  Jon;/  '-nough." 

"Some  men  like  to  waste  their  time,"  she 
returner]  quietly. 

"I  don't  call  it  wastin'  time  to  be  talkin' 
to  you,"  he  declared  rapidly. 

"Our  opinions  differ,"  she  observed  short 
ly,  resting  the  pencil  point  on  the  page  that 
she  had  been  writing. 

Her  profile  was  toward  him;  her  cheeks 
were  tinged  with  color;  some  stray  wisps  of 
hair  hung,  breeze-blown,  over  her  forehead 
and  temples.  She  marie  an  attractive  pic 
ture,  sitting  there  with  the  soft  sunlight 
about  her,  a  picture  whose  beauty  smote 
J.eviatt's  heart  with  a  pang  of  sudden  re 
gret  and  disappointment.  She  might  have 
been  his,  but  for  the  coming  of  Ferguson. 
And  now,  because  of  the  stray-man's  wiles, 
he  was  losing  her. 

A  sudden  rage  seized  upon  him ;  he  leaned 
forward,  his  face  bloating  poisonously. 
"Mebbe  I  could  name  a  man  who  ain't 
wastin'  his  time!"  he  sneered. 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

She  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at  him, 
dropping  pencil  and  paper,  her  eyes  flashing 
with  a  bitter  scorn.  "You  are  one  of  those 
•  sulking  cowards  who  fawn  over  men  and 
insult  defenseless  women!"  she  declared,  the 
words  coming  slowly  and  distinctly. 

He  had  realized  before  she  answered  that 
he  had  erred,  and  he  smiled  deprecatingly, 
the  effort  contorting  his  face. 

"I  wasn't  meanin'  just  that,"  he  said 
weakly.  "I  reckon  it's  a  clear  field  an'  no 
favors."  He  took  a  step  toward  her,  his 
voice  growing  tense.  "I've  been  comin' 
down  to  your  cabin  a  lot,  sayin'  that  I  was 
comin'  to  see  Ben.  But  I  didn't  come  to  see 
Ben — I  wanted  to  look  at  you.  I  reckon 
you  knowed  that.  A  woman  can't  help  but 
see  when  a  man's  in  love  with  her.  But 
you've  never  give  me  a  chance  to  tell  you. 
I'm  tellin'  you  now.  I  want  you  to  marry 
me.  I'm  range  boss  for  the  Two  Diamond 
an'  I've  got  some  stock  that's  my  own,  an' 
money  in  the  bank  over  in  Cimarron.  I'll 
put  up  a  shack  a  few  miles  down  the  river 
an' 1" 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

"Stop!"  commanded  Miss  Radford  im 
periously. 

Leviatt  had  been  speaking  rapidly,  ab 
sorbed  in  his  subject,  assurance  shining  in 
his  face.  But  at  Miss  Radford's  command 
he  broke  off  suddenly  and  stiffened,  surprise 
widening  his  eyes. 

"You  have  said  enough,"  she  continued; 
"quite  enough.  I  have  never  thought  of  you 
as  a  possible  admirer.  I  certainly  have  done 
nothing  that  might  lead  you  to  believe  I 
would  marry  you.  I  do  not  even  like  you — 
not  even  respect  you.  I  am  not  certain  that 
I  shall  ever  marry,  but  if  I  do,  I  certainly 
shall  not  marry  a  man  whose  every  look  is 
an  insult." 

She  turned  haughtily  and  began  to  gather 
up  her  papers.  There  had  been  no  excite 
ment  in  her  manner;  her  voice  had  been 
steady,  even,  and  tempered  with  a  slight 
scorn. 

For  a  brief  space  Leviatt  stood,  while  the 

full  significance  of  her  refusal  ate  slowly 

into  his  consciousness.    Whatever  hopes  he 

might  have  had  had  been  swept  away  in 

227 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

those  few  short,  pithy  sentences.  His  pas 
sion  checked,  the  structure  erected  by  his 
imagination  toppled  to  ruin,  his  vanity  hurt, 
he  stood  before  her  stripped  of  the  veneer 
that  had  made  him  seem,  heretofore,  nearly 
the  man  he  professed  to  be. 

In  her  note  book  had  been  written: 
"Dave  Leviatt.  .  .  .  One  rather  gets 
the  impression  that  the  stoop  is  a  reflection 
of  the  man's  nature,  which  seems  vindictive 
and  suggests  a  low  cunning.  His  eyes  are 
small,  deep  set,  and  glitter  when  he  talks. 
But  they  are  steady  and  cold — almost  merci 
less.  One's  thoughts  go  instantly  to  the 
tiger.  I  shall  try  to  create  that  impression 
in  the  reader's  mind." 

And  now  as  she  looked  at  him  she  was 
sure  that  task  would  not  be  difficult.  She 
had  now  an  impression  of  him  that  seemed 
as  though  it  had  been  seared  into  her  mind. 
The  eyes  that  she  had  thought  merciless  were 
(now  glittering  malevolently,  and  she  shud 
dered  at  the  satyric  upward  curve  of  his  lips 
as  he  stepped  close  to  the  rock  and  placed  a 
hand  upon  the  mass  of  manuscript  lying 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

there,  that  she  had  previously  dropped,  to 
prevent  her  leaving. 

"So  you  don't  love  me?"  he  sneered.  "You 
don't  even  respect  me.  Why?  Because 
you've  taken  a  shine  to  that  damned 
maverick  that  come  here  from  Dry  Bottom 
— Stafford's  new  stray-man!" 

"That  is  my  business,"  she  returned  icily. 

"It  sure  is,"  he  said,  the  words  writhing 
venomously  through  his  lips.  "An'  it's  my 
business  too.  There  ain't  any  damned " 

He  had  glanced  suddenly  downward  while 
he  had  been  talking  and  his  gaze  rested  upon 
an  upturned  page  of  the  manuscript  that  lay 
beside  him  on  the  rock.  He  broke  off  speak 
ing  and  reaching  down  took  up  the  page, 
his  eyes  narrowing  with  interest.  The  page 
he  had  taken  up  was  one  from  the  first 
chapter  and  described  in  detail  the  shooting 
match  in  Dry  Bottom.  It  was  a  truthful 
picture  of  what  had  actually  happened.  She 
had  even  used  the  real  names  of  the  char 
acters.  Leviatt  saw  a  reference  to  the 
"Silver  Dollar"  saloon,  to  the  loungers,  to 
the  stranger  who  had  ridden  up  and  who  sat 
229 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

on  his  pony  near  the  hitching  rail,  and  who 
was  called  Ferguson.  He  saw  his  own 
name;  read  the  story  of  how  the  stranger 
had  eclipsed  his  feat  by  putting  six  bullets 
into  the  can. 

He  dropped  the  page  to  the  rock  and 
looked  up  at  Miss  Radford  with  a  short 
laugh. 

"So  that's  what  you're  writin'?"  he 
sneered.  "You're  writin'  somethin'  that 
really  happened.  You're  even  writin'  the 
real  names  an'  tellin'  how  Stafford's  stray- 
man  butted  in  an'  beat  me  shootin.  You 
knowin'  this  shows  that  him  an'  you  has  been 
travelin'  pretty  close  together." 

For  an  instant  Miss  Radford  forgot  her 
anger.  Her  eyes  snapped  with  a  sudden 
interest. 

"Were  you  the  man  who  hit  the  can  five 
times?"  she  questioned,  unable  to  conceal  her 
eagerness. 

She  saw  a  flush  slowly  mount  to  his  face. 
Evidently  he  had  said  more  than  he  had  in 
tended. 

"Well,  if  I  am?"  he  returned,  his  lips 
230 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

writhing  in  a  sneer.  "Him  beatin'  me  shoot- 
in'  that  way  don't  prove  nothin'." 

She  was  now  becoming  convinced  of  her 
cleverness.  From  Ben's  description  of  the 
man  who  had  won  the  shooting  match  she 
had  been  able  to  lead  Ferguson  to  the  ad 
mission  that  he  had  been  the  central  char 
acter  in  that  incident,  and  now  it  had  tran 
spired  that  Leviatt  was  the  man  he  had 
beaten.  This  had  been  the  way  she  had  writ 
ten  it  in  the  story.  So  far  the  plot  that  had 
been  born  of  her  imagination  had  proved  to 
be  the  story  of  a  real  occurrence. 

She  had  counted  upon  none  but  im 
aginary  characters, — though  she  had  deter 
mined  to  clothe  these  with  reality  through 
study — but  now,  she  had  discovered,  she  had 
been  the  chronicler  of  a  real  incident,  and 
two  of  her  characters  had  been  pitted  against 
each  other  in  a  contest  in  which  there  had 
been  enough  bitterness  to  provide  the  animus 
necessary  to  carry  them  through  succeeding 
pages,  ready  and  willing  to  fly  at  each 
other's  throats.  She  was  not  able  to  conceal 
her  satisfaction  over  the  discovery,  and  when 
231 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

she  looked  at  Leviatt  again  she  smiled  broad- 

iy. 

"That  confession  explains  a  great  many 
things,"  she  said,  stooping  to  recover  the 
page  that  he  had  dropped  beside  her  upon 
the  rock. 

"Meanin'  what?"  he  questioned,  his  eyes 
glittering  evilly. 

"Meaning  that  I  now  know  why  you  are 
not  friendly  toward  Mr.  Ferguson,"  she  re 
turned.  "I  heard  that  he  beat  you  in  the 
shooting  match,"  she  went  on  tauntingly, 
"and  then  when  you  insulted  him  after 
wards,  he  talked  very  plainly  to  you." 

The  moment  she  had  spoken  she  realized 
that  her  words  had  hurt  him,  for  he  paled 
and  his  eyes  narrowed  venomously.  But  his 
voice  was  cold  and  steady. 

"Was  Mr.  Ferguson  tellin'  you  that?"  he 
inquired,  succeeding  in  placing  ironic  em 
phasis  upon  the  prefix. 

She  was  arranging  the  contents  of  her 
hand  bag  and  she  did  not  look  up  as  she 
answered  him. 

"That  is  my  business,"  she  returned  quiet- 


LEVIATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

ly.  "But  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  the 
man  who  told  me  about  the  occurrence  would 
not  lie  about  it." 

"It';>  nice  that  you've  got  such  a  heap  of 
faith  in  him,"  he  sneered. 

It  was  plain  to  her  that  he  thought  Fer 
guson  had  told  her  about  the  shooting  match, 
and  it  was  equally  plain  that  he  still  har 
bored  evil  thoughts  against  the  stray-man. 
And  also,  he  suspected  that  something  more 
than  mere  friendship  existed  between  her, 
and  Ferguson.  She  had  long  hoped  that  one 
day  she  might  be  given  the  opportunity  of 
meeting  in  person  a  man  whose  soul  was  con 
sumed  with  jealousy,  in  order  that  she  might 
be  able  to  gain  some  impressions  of  the  in 
tensity  of  his  passion.  This  seemed  to  be  her 
opportunity.  Therefore  she  raised  her  chin 
a  little  and  looked  at  him  with  a  tantalizing 
smile. 

"Of  course  I  have  faith  in  him,"  she  de 
clared,  with  a  slight,  biting  emphasis.  "I 
believe  in  him — absolutely." 

She  saw  his  lips  twitch.  "Sure,"  he 
sneered,  "you  was  just  beginnin'  to  believe 
233 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

in  him  that  day  when  you  was  holdin'  hands 
with  him — just  about  here.  I  reckon  he  was 
enjoyin'  himself." 

She  started,  but  smiled  immediately.  "So 
you  saw  that?"  she  inquired,  knowing  that 
he  had,  but  taking  a  keen  delight  in  seeing 
that  he  still  remembered.  But  this  conver 
sation  was  becoming  too  personal;  she  had 
no  desire  to  argue  this  point  with  him,  even 
to  get  an  impression  of  the  depth  of  his 
passion,  so  she  gathered  up  her  belongings 
and  prepared  to  depart.  But  he  stepped 
deliberately  in  front  of  her,  barring  the  way 
of  escape.  His  face  was  aflame  with  pas 
sion. 

"I  seen  him  holdin'  your  hand,"  he  said, 
his  voice  trembling;  "I  seen  that  he  was 
holdin'  it  longer  than  he  had  any  right.  An' 
I  seen  you  pull  your  hand  away  when  you 
thought  I  was  lookin'  at  you.  I  reckon 
you've  taken  a  shine  to  him;  he's  the  kind 
that  the  women  like — with  his  slick  ways  an' 
smooth  palaver — an'  his  love  makin'."  He 
laughed  with  his  lips  only,  his  eyes  narrowed 
to  glittering  pin  points.  She  had  not 
234 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

thought  that  jealousy  could  make  a  person 
half  so  repulsive. 

"If  you're  lovin'  him,"  he  continued,  lean 
ing  toward  her,  his  muscles  tense,  his  lips 
quivering  with  a  passion  that  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  repress,  "I'm  tellin'  you  that 
you're  wastin'  your  time.  You  wouldn't 
think  so  much  of  him  if  you  knowed  that  he 
come  here " 

Leviatt  had  become  aware  that  Miss  Rad- 
ford  was  not  listening;  that  she  was  no 
longer  looking  at  him,  but  at  something  be 
hind  him.  At  the  instant  he  became  aware 
of  this  he  turned  sharply  in  his  tracks,  his 
right  hand  falling  swiftly  to  his  holster.  Not 
over  half  a  dozen  paces  distant  stood  Ben 
Radford,  gravely  watching. 

"Mebbe  you  folks  are  rehearsing  a  scene 
from  that  story,"  he  observed  quietly.  "I 
wasn't  intending  to  interrupt,  but  I  heard 
loud  talking  and  I  thought  mebbe  it  wasn't 
anything  private.  So  I  just  got  off  my 
horse  and  climbed  up  here,  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity." 

Leviatt's  hand  fell  away  from  the  holster, 
235 


THE 'TWO-GUN  MAN 

a  guilty  grin  overspreading  his  face.  "I 
reckon  we  wasn't  rehearsin'  any  scene,"  he 
said,  trying  to  make  the  words  come  easily. 
"I  was  just  tellin'  your  sister  that " 

Miss  Radford  laughed  banteringly.  "You 
have  spoiled  a  chapter  in  my  book,  Ben," 
she  declared  with  pretended  annoyance; 
"Mr.  Leviatt  had  just  finished  proposing  to 
me  and  was  at  the  point  where  he  was  sup 
posed  to  speak  bitter  words  about  his  rival." 
She  laughed  again,  gazing  at  Leviatt  with 
mocking  eyes.  "Of  course,  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  tell  my  readers  what  he  might  have 
said,  for  you  appeared  at  a  most  inoppor 
tune  time.  But  he  has  taught  me  a  great 
deal — much  more,  in  fact,  than  I  ever  ex 
pected  from  him." 

She  bowed  mockingly.  "I  am  very,  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Leviatt,"  she  said, 
placing  broad  emphasis  upon  her  words.  "I 
promise  to  try  and  make  a  very  interesting 
character  of  you — there  were  times  when  you 
were  most  dramatic." 

She  bowed  to  Leviatt  and  flashed  a  daz 
zling  smile  at  her  brother.  Then  she  walked 
236 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

past  Leviatt,  picked  her  way  daintily  over 
the  loose  stones  on  the  hillside,  and  de 
scended  to  the  level  where  she  had  tethered 
her  pony.  Ben  stood  grinning  admiringly 
after  her  as  she  mounted  and  rode  out  into 
the  flat.  Then  he  turned  to  Leviatt,  soberly 
contemplating  him. 

"I  don't  think  you  were  rehearsing  for  the 
book,"  he  said  quietly,  an  undercurrent  of 
humor  in  his  voice. 

"She  was  funnin'  me,"  returned  Leviatt, 
his  face  reddening. 

"I  reckon  she  was,"  returned  Ben  dryly. 
"She's  certainly  some  clever  at  handing  it  to 
a  man."  He  smiled  down  into  the  flat, 
where  Miss  Radford  could  still  be  seen,  rid 
ing  toward  the  cabin.  "Looks  as  though  she 
wasn't  quite  ready  to  change  her  name  to 
'Leviatt',"  he  grinned. 

But  there  was  no  humor  in  Leviatt 's  re 
flections.  He  stood  for  JL  moment,  looking 
down  into  the  flat,  the  expression  of  his  face 
morose  and  sullen.  Ben's  bantering  words 
only  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  rage  and  dis 
appointment  that  was  burning  fiercely  in  his 
237 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

heart.     Presently  the  hard  lines  of  his  lips 
disappeared  and  he  smiled  craftily. 

"She's  about  ready  to  change  her  name," 
he  said.  "Only  she  ain't  figgerin'  that  it's 
goin'  to  be  Leviatt." 

"You're  guessing  now,"  returned  Ben 
sharply. 

Leviatt  laughed  oddly.  "I  reckon  I  ain't 
doin'  any  guessin',"  he  returned.  "You've 
been  around  her  a  heap  an'  been  seein'  her 
consid'able,  but  you  ain't  been  usin'  your 
eyes." 

"Meaning  what?"  demanded  Ben,  an 
acid-like  coldness  in  his  voice. 

"Meanin'  that  if  you'd  been  usin'  your 
eyes  you'd  have  seen  that  she's  some  took  up 
with  Stafford's  new  stray-man." 

"Well,"  returned  Ben,  "she's  her  own 
boss.  If  she's  made  friends  with  Ferguson 
that's  her  business."  He  laughed.  "She's 
certainly  clever,"  he  added,  "and  mebbe  she's 
got  her  own  notion  as  to  why  she's  made 
friends  with  him.  She's  told  me  that  she's 
goin'  to  make  him  a  character  in  the  book 
she's  writing.  Likely  she's  stringing  him." 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

"I  reckon  she  ain't  stringin'  him,"  de 
clared  Leviatt.  "A  girl  ain't  doin'  much 
stringin'  when  she's  holdin'  a  man's  hand  an' 
blushin'  when  somebody  ketches  her  at  it." 

There  was  a  slight  sneer  in  Leviatt's  voice 
which  drew  a  sharp  glance  from  Radford. 
For  an  instant  his  face  clouded  and  he  was 
about  to  make  a  sharp  reply.  But  his  face 
cleared  immediately  and  he  smiled. 

"I'm  banking  on  her  being  able  to  take 
care  of  herself,"  he  returned.  "Her  holding 
Ferguson's  hand  proves  nothing.  Likely 
she  was  trying  to  get  an  impression — she's 
always  telling  me  that.  But  she's  running 
her  own  game,  and  if  she  is  stringing  Fer 
guson  that's  her  business,  and  if  she  thinks 
a  good  bit  of  him  that's  her  business,  too.  If 
a  man  ain't  jealous,  he  might  be  able  to  see 
that  Ferguson  ain't  a  half  bad  sort  of  a 
man." 

An  evil  light  leaped  into  Leviatt's  eyes. 
He  turned  and  faced  Radford,  words  com 
ing  from  his  lips  coldly  and  incisively. 
"When  you  interrupted  me,"  he  said,  "I  was 
goin'  to  tell  your  sister  about  Ferguson. 
$39 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

Mebbe  if  I  tell  you  what  I  was  goin'  to  tell 
her  it'll  make  you  see  things  some  different. 
A  while  ago  Stafford  was  wantin'  to  hire  a 
gunfighter."  He  shot  a  significant  glance 
at  Radford,  who  returned  it  steadily.  "I 
reckon  you  know  what  he  wanted  a  gun- 
fighter  for.  He  got  one.  His  name's  Fer 
guson.  He's  gettin'  a  hundred  dollars  a 
month  for  the  season,  to  put  Ben  Radford 
out  of  business !" 

The  smile  had  gone  from  Radf ord's  face ; 
his  lips  were  tightly  closed,  his  eyes  cold  and 
alert. 

"You  lying  about  Ferguson  because  you 
think  he's  friendly  with  Mary?"  he  ques 
tioned  quietly. 

Leviatt's  right  hand  dropped  swiftly  to 
his  holster.  But  Radford  laughed  harshly. 
"Quit  it!"  he  said  sharply.  "I  ain't  sayin' 
you're  a  liar,  but  what  you've  said  makes 
you  liable  to  be  called  that  until  you've 
proved  you  ain't.  How  do  you  know  Fer 
guson's  been  hired  to  put  me  out  of  busi 
ness?" 

Leviatt  laughed.  "Stafford  an'  me  went 
240 


LEVIATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

to  Dry  Bottom  to  get  a  gunfighter.  I  shot 
a  can  in  the  street  in  front  of  the  Silver 
Dollar  so's  Stafford  would  be  able  to  get  a 
line  on  anyone  tryin'  to  beat  my  game.  Fer 
guson  done  it  an'  Stafford  hired  him." 

Radford's  gaze  was  level  and  steady. 
"Then  you've  knowed  right  along  that  he 
was  lookin'  for  me,"  he  said  coldly.  "Why 
didn't  you  say  something  about  it  before. 
.You've  been  claiming  to  be  my  friend." 

Leviatt  flushed,  shifting  uneasily  from 
one  foot  to  the  other,  but  watching  Radford 
with  alert  and  suspicious  glances.  "Why," 
he  returned  shortly,  "I'm  range  boss  for  the 
Two  Diamond  an'  I  ain't  hired  to  tell  what 
I  know.  I  reckon  you'd  think  I  was  a  hell 
of  a  man  to  be  tellin'  things  that  I  ain't  got 
no  right  to  tell." 

"But  you're  telling  it  now,"  returned  Rad 
ford,  his  eyes  narrowing  a  little. 

"Yes,"  returned  Leviatt  quietly,  "I  am. 
An'  you're  callin'  me  a  liar  for  it.  But  I'm 
tellin'  you  to  wait.  Mebbe  you'll  tumble.  I 
reckon  you  ain't  heard  how  Ferguson's  been 
tellin'  the  boys  that  he  went  down  to  your 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

cabin  one  night  claimin'  to  have  been  bit  by 
a  rattler,  because  he  wanted  to  get  ac 
quainted  with  you  an'  pot  you  some  day 
when  you  wasn't  expectin'  it.  An'  then 
after  he'd  stayed  all  night  in  your  cabin 
he  was  braggin'  to  the  boys  that  he  reckoned 
on  makin'  a  fool  of  your  sister.  Oh,  he's 
some  slick!"  he  concluded,  a  note  of  triumph 
in  his  voice. 

Radford  started,  his  face  paling  a  little. 
He  had  thought  it  strange  that  an  ex 
perienced  plainsman — as  Ferguson  ap 
peared  to  be— should  have  been  bitten  by  a 
rattler  in  the  manner  he  had  described.  And 
then  he  had  been  hanging  around  the 

"Mebbe  you  might  think  it's  onusual  for 
Stafford  to  hire  a  two-gun  man  to  look  after 
strays,"  broke  in  Leviatt  at  this  point. 
"Two-gun  men  ain't  takin'  such  jobs  regu 
lar,"  he  insinuated.  "Stray-men  is  usual 
low-down,  mean,  ornery  cusses  which  ain't 
much  good  for  anything  else,  an'  so  they 
spend  their  time  mopin'  around,  doin'  work 
that  ain't  fit  for  any  puncher  to  do." 

Radford  had  snapped  himself  erect,  his 


LEV  I  ATT  TAKES  A  STEP 

lips  straightening.  He  suddenly  held  out  a 
hand  to  Leviatt.  "I'm  thanking  you,"  he 
said  steadily.  "It's  rather  late  for  you  to  be 
telling  me,  but  I  think  it's  come  in  time  any 
way.  I'm  watching  him  for  a  little  while, 

and  if  things  are  as  you  say "    He  broke 

off,  his  voice  filled  with  a  significant  grim- 
ness.  "So-long,"  he  added. 

He  turned  and  descended  the  slope  of  the 
hill.  An  instant  later  Leviatt  saw  him  lop 
ing  his  pony  toward  the  cabin.  For  a  few 
minutes  Leviatt  gazed  after  him,  his  eyes 
alight  with  satisfaction.  Then  he,  too,  de 
scended  the  slope  of  the  hill  and  mounted  his 
pony. 


243 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

MARY  RADFORD  had  found  the 
day  too  beautiful  to  remain  indoors 
and  so  directly  after  dinner  she  had 
caught  up  her  pony  and  was  off  for  a  ride 
through  the  cottonwood.  She  had  been  com 
pelled  to  catch  up  the  pony  herself,  for  of 
late  Ben  had  been  neglectful  of  this  duty. 
Until  the  last  week  or  so  he  had  always 
caught  her  pony  and  placed  the  saddle  on  it 
before  leaving  in  the  morning,  assuring  her 
that  if  she  did  not  ride  during  his  absence  the 
pony  would  not  suffer  through  being 
saddled  and  bridled.  But  within  the  last 
week  she  thought  she  detected  a  change  in 
Ben's  manner.  He  seemed  preoccupied  and 
glum,  falling  suddenly  into  a  taciturnity 
244 


'A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

broken  only  by  brief  periods  during  which 
he  condescended  to  reply  to  her  questions 
with — it  seemed — grudging  monosyllables. 

Several  times,  too,  she  had  caught  him 
watching  her  with  furtive  glances  in  which, 
she  imagined,  she  detected  a  glint  of  specu 
lation.  But  of  this  she  was  not  quite  sure, 
for  when  she  bluntly  questioned  him  con 
cerning  his  moods  he  had  invariably  given 
her  an  evasive  reply.  Fearing  that  there 
might  have  been  a  recurrence  of  the  old 
trouble  with  the  Two  Diamond  manager — 
about  which  he  had  told  her  during  her  first 
days  at  the  cabin — she  ventured  a  question. 
He  had  grimly  assured  her  that  he  antici 
pated  no  further  trouble  in  that  direction. 
So,  unable  to  get  a  direct  reply  from  him  she 
had  decided  that  perhaps  he  would  speak 
when  the  time  came,  and  so  she  had  ceased 
questioning. 

In  spite  of  his  negligence  regarding  the 
pony,  she  had  not  given  up  her  rides.  Nor 
had  she  neglected  to  give  a  part  of  each 
morning  to  the  story. 

The  work  of  gradually  developing  her 
245 


THE    TWO-GUX   VAX 

hero's  character  had  been  an  absorbing  task: 
times  when  she  lingered  over  the  pages  of 
the  story  she  found  herself  wondering 
whether  she  had  sounded  the  depths  of  his 
nature.  She  knew,  at  least,  that  she  had 
made  him  attractive,  for  as  he  moved  among 
her  pages,  she — who  should  have  been 
satiated  with  him  because  of  being  compelled 
to  record  his  every  word  and  movement— 
found  his  magnetic  personality  drawing  her 
applause,  found  that  he  haunted  her  dreams, 
discovered  one  day  that  her  waking  mo 
ments  were  filled  with  thoughts  of  him. 

But  of  late  she  had  begun  to  suspect  that 
her  interest  in  him  was  not  all  on  account  of 
the  story :  there  were  times  when  she  sat  long 
thinking  of  him,  seeing  him,  watching  the 
lights  and  shadows  of  expression  come  and 
go  in  his  face.  Somewhere  between  the  real 
Ferguson  and  the  man  who  was  impersonat 
ing  him  in  her  story  was  an  invisible  line 
that  she  could  not  trace.  There  were  times 
when  she  could  not  have  told  whether  the 
character  she  admired  belonged  to  the  real 
or  the  unreal. 

246 


A  BREAK  IX  THE  STORY 

She  was  thinking  much  of  this  to-day 
while  she  rode  into  the  subdued  light  of  the 
cotton  wood.  Was  she,  absorbed  in  the  task 
of  putting  a  real  character  in  her  story,  to 
confess  that  her  interest  in  him  was  not 
wholly  the  interest  of  the  artist  who  sees  the 
beauties  and  virtues  of  a  model  only  long 
enough  to  paint  them  into  the  picture :  The 
blushes  came  when  she  suddenly  realized 
that  her  interest  was  not  wholly  professional, 
that  she  had  lately  lingered  long  over  her 
model,  at  times  when  she  had  not  been  think 
ing  of  the  story  at  all. 

Then,  too,  she  had  considered  her  friends 
in  the  East.  What  would  they  say  if  they 
knew  of  her  friendship  with  the  Two  Dia 
mond  stray-man  ?  The  standards  of  Eastern 
civilization  were  not  elastic  enough  to  in 
clude  the  man  whom  she  had  come  to  know 
so  well,  who  had  strode  as  boldly  into  her 
life  as  he  had  strode  into  her  story,  with  his 
steady,  serene  eyes,  his  picturesque  rigging, 
and  his  two  guns,  their  holsters  tied  so  sug 
gestively  and  forebodingly  down.  Would 
her  friends  be  able  to  see  the  romance  in 
247 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 


him?  Would  they  be  able  to  estimate  him 
according  to  the  standards  of  the  world  in 
which  he  lived,  in  which  he  moved  so  grace 
fully? 

She  was  aware  that,  measured  by  Eastern 
standards,  Ferguson  fell  far  short  of  the 
average  in  those  things  that  combine  to  pro 
duce  the  polished  gentleman.  Yet  she  was 
also  aware  that  these  things  were  mere  ac 
complishments,  a  veneer  acquired  through 
constant  practice — and  that  usually  the  per 
son  known  as  "gentleman"  could  not  be  dis 
tinguished  by  these  things  at  all — that  the 
real  "gentleman"  could  be  known  only 
through  the  measure  of  his  quiet  and 
genuine  consideration  and  unfailing  Chris 
tian  virtues. 

As  she  rode  through  the  cottonwood,  into 
that  deep  solitude  which  brings  with  it  a 
mighty  reverence  for  nature  and  a  solemn 
desire  for  communion  with  the  soul — that 
solitude  in  which  all  affectation  disappears 
and  man  is  face  to  face  with  his  Maker — she 
tried  to  think  of  Ferguson  in  an  Eastern 
drawing  room,  attempting  a  sham  courtesy,, 
248 


A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

affecting  mannerisms  that  more  than  once 
had  brought  her  own  soul  into  rebellion. 
But  she  could  not  get  him  into  the  imaginary 
picture.  He  did  not  belong  there ;  it  seemed 
that  she  was  trying  to  force  a  living  figure 
into  a  company  of  mechanical  puppets.  And 
so  they  were — puppets  who  answered  to  the 
pulling  strings  of  precedent  and  established 
convention. 

But  at  the  same  time  she  knew  that  this 
society  which  she  affected  to  despise  would 
refuse  to  accept  him ;  that  if  by  any  chance 
he  should  be  given  a  place  in  it  he  would  be 
an  object  of  ridicule,  or  at  the  least  passive 
contempt.  The  world  did  not  want  origin 
ality;  would  not  welcome  in  its  drawing 
room  the  free,  unaffected  child  of  nature. 
No,  the  world  wanted  pretense,  imitation. 
It  frowned  upon  truth  and  applauded  the 
sycophant. 

She  was  not  even  certain  that  if  she  suc 
ceeded  in  making  Ferguson  a  real  living 
character  the  world  would  be  interested  in 
him.  But  she  had  reached  that  state  of 
mind  in  which  she  cared  very  little  about  the 
249 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

world's   opinion.      She,   at   least,   was   in 
terested  in  him. 

Upon  the  same  afternoon — for  there  is 
no  rule  for  the  mere  incidents  of  life — Fer 
guson  loped  his  pony  through  the  shade  of 
the  cottonwood.  He  was  going  to  visit  the 
cabin  in  Bear  Flat.  Would  she  be  at  home? 
Would  she  be  glad  to  see  him?  He  could 
not  bring  his  mind  to  give  him  an  affirmative 
answer  to  either  of  these  questions. 

But  of  one  thing  he  was  certain — she  had 
treated  him  differently  from  the  other  Two 
Diamond  men  who  had  attempted  to  win 
her  friendship.  Was  he  to  think  then  that 
she  cared  very  little  whether  he  came  to  the 
cabin  or  not?  He  smiled  over  his  pony's 
mane  at  the  thought.  He  could  not  help 
but  see  that  she  enjoyed  his  visits. 

When  he  rode  up  to  the  cabin  he  found  it 
deserted,  but  with  a  smile  he  remounted 
Mustard  and  set  out  over  the  river  trail, 
through  the  cottonwood.  He  was  sure  that 
he  would  find  her  on  the  hill  in  the  flat,  and 
when  he  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  cotton- 
wood  opposite  the  hill  he  saw  her. 
250 


A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

When  she  heard  the  clatter  of  his  pony's 
hoofs  she  turned  and  saw  him,  waving  a 
hand  at  him. 

"I  reckoned  on  findin'  you  here,"  he  said 
when  he  came  close  enough  to  be  heard. 

She  shyly  made  room  for  him  beside  her 
on  the  rock,  but  there  was  mischief  in  her 
eye.  "It  seems  impossible  to  hide  from 
you,"  she  said  with  a  pretense  of  annoyance. 

He  laughed  as  he  came  around  the  edge  of 
the  rock  and  sat  near  her.  "Was  you  really 
tryin'  to  hide?"  he  questioned.  "Because  if 
you  was,"  he  continued,  "you  hadn't  ought 
to  have  got  up  on  this  hill — where  I  could 
see  you  without  even  lookin'  for  you." 

"But  of  course  you  were  not  looking  for 
me,"  she  observed  quietly. 

He  caught  her  gaze  and  held  it — steadily. 
"I  reckon  I  was  lookin'  for  you,"  he  said. 

"Why — why,"  she  returned,  suddenly 
fearful  that  something  had  happened  to  Ben 
— "is  anything  wrong?" 

He  smiled.     "Nothin'  is  wrong,"  he  re 
turned.    "But  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  an' 
I  expected  to  find  you  here." 
251 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

There  was  a  gentleness  in  his  voice  that 
she  had  not  heard  before,  and  a  quiet  signif 
icance  to  his  words  that  made  her  eyes  droop 
away  from  his  with  slight  confusion.  She 
replied  without  looking  at  him. 

"But  I  came  here  to  write,"  she  said. 

He  gravely  considered  her,  drawing  one 
foot  up  on  the  rock  and  clasping  his  hands 
about  the  knee.  "I've  thought  a  lot  about 
that  book,"  he  declared  with  a  trace  of  em 
barrassment,  "since  you  told  me  that  you 
was  goin'  to  put  real  men  an'  women  in  it. 
I  expect  you've  made  them  do  the  things 
that  you've  wanted  them  to  do  an'  made 
them  say  what  you  wanted  them  to  say.  That 
part  is  right  an'  proper — there  wouldn't  be 
any  sense  of  anyone  writin'  a  book  unless 
they  could  put  into  it  what  they  thought  was 
right.  But  what's  been  botherin'  me  is  this : 
how  can  you  tell  whether  the  things  you've 
made  them  say  is  what  they  would  have  said 
if  they'd  had  any  chance  to  talk?  An'  how 
can  you  tell  what  their  feelin's  would  be 
when  you  set  them  doin'  somethin'?" 

She  laughed.      "That  is   a   prerogative 


'A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

which  the  writer  assumes  without  question," 
she  returned.  "The  author  of  a  novel  makes 
his  characters  think  and  act  as  the  author 
himself  imagines  he  would  act  in  the  same 
circumstances." 

He  looked  at  her  with  amused  eyes. 
"That's  just  what  I  was  tryin'  to  get  at," 
he  said.  "You've  put  me  into  your  book, 
an'  you've  made  me  do  an'  say  things  out  of 
your  mind.  But  you  don't  know  for  sure 
whether  I  would  have  done  an'  said  things 
just  like  you've  wrote  them.  Mebbe  if  I 
would  have  had  somethin'  to  say  I  wouldn't 
have  done  things  your  way  at  all." 

"I  am  sure  you  would,"  she  returned 
positively. 

"Well,  now,"  he  returned  smiling,  "you're 
speakin'  as  though  you  was  pretty  certain 
about  it.  You  must  have  wrote  a  whole  lot 
of  the  story." 

"It  is  two-thirds  finished,"  she  returned 
with  a  trace  of  satisfaction  in  her  voice  which 
did  not  escape  him. 

"An'  you've  got  all  your  characters  doin' 
an'  thinkin'  things  that  you  think  they  ought 
253 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

to  do?"  His  eyes  gleamed  craftily.  "You 
got  a  man  an'  a  girl  in  it?" 

"Of  course." 

"An'  they're  goin'  to  love  one  another?" 

"No  other  outcome  is  popular  with  novel 
readers,"  she  returned. 

He  rocked  back  and  forth,  his  eyes  lan 
guidly  surveying  the  rim  of  hills  in  the  dis 
tance. 

"I  expect  that  outcome  is  popular  in  real 
life  too,"  he  observed.  "Nobody  ever  hears 
about  it  when  it  turns  out  some  other  way." 

"I  expect  love  is  always  a  popular  sub 
ject,"  she  returned  smiling. 

His  eyes  were  still  languid,  his  gaze  still 
on  the  rim  of  distant  hills. 

"You  got  any  love  talk  in  there — between 
the  man  an'  the  girl?"  he  questioned. 

"Of  course." 

"That's  mighty  interestin',"  he  returned. 
"I  expect  they  do  a  good  bit  of  mushin'?" 

"They  do  not  talk  extravagantly,"  she 
defended. 

"Then  I  expect  it  must  be  pretty  good," 
he  returned.  "I  don't  like  mushy  love 
254 


A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

stories."  And  now  he  turned  and  looked 
fairly  at  her.  "Of  course,"  he  said  slyly, 
"I  don't  know  whether  it's  necessary  or  not, 
but  I've  been  thinkin'  that  to  write  a  good 
love  story  the  writer  ought  to  be  in  love. 
Whoever  was  writin'  would  know  more 
about  how  it  feels  to  be  in  love." 

She  admired  the  cleverness  with  which  he 
had  led  her  up  to  this  point,  but  she  was  not 
to  be  trapped.  She  met  his  eyes  fairly. 

"I  am  sure  it  is  not  necessary  for  the 
writer  to  be  in  love,"  she  said  quietly  but 
positively.  "I  flatter  myself  that  my  love 
scenes  are  rather  real,  and  I  have  not  found 
it  necessary  to  love  anyone." 

This  reply  crippled  him  instantly.  "Well, 
now,"  he  said,  eyeing  her,  she  thought,  a  bit 
reproachfully,  "that  comes  pretty  near 
stumpin'  me.  But,"  he  added,  a  subtle  ex 
pression  coming  again  into  his  eyes,  "you 
say  you've  got  only  two-thirds  finished. 
Mebbe  you'll  be  in  love  before  you  get  it  all 
done.  An'  then  mebbe  you'll  find  that  you 
didn't  get  it  right  an'  have  to  do  it  all  over 
again.  That  would  sure  be  too  bad,  when 
255 


THE   TWO-GUN^  MAN 

you  could  have  got  in  love  an'  wrote  it  real 
in  the  first  place." 

"I  don't  think  that  I  shall  fall  in  love," 
she  said  laughing. 

He  looked  quickly  at  her,  suddenly  grave. 
"I  wouldn't  want  to  think  you  meant  that," 
he  said. 

"Why?"  she  questioned  in  a  low  voice,  her 
laughter  subdued  by  his  earnestness. 

"Why,"  he  said  steadily,  as  though  stat 
ing  a  perfectly  plain  fact,  "I've  thought 
right  along  that  you  liked  me.  Of  course  I 
ain't  been  fool  enough  to  think  that  you 
loved  me" — and  now  he  reddened  a  little — , 
"but  I  don't  deny  that  I've  hoped  that  you 
would." 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  laughed;  "and  so  you 
have  planned  it  all  out!  And  I  was  hoping 
that  you  would  not  prove  so  deep  as  that. 
You  know,"  she  went  on,  "you  promised  me 
a  long  while  ago  that  you  would  not  fall  in 
love  with  me." 

"I  don't  reckon  that  I  said  that,"  he  re 
turned.  "I  told  you  that  I  wasn't  goin'  to 
get  fresh.  I  reckon  I  ain't  fresh  now.  But 
256 


'A  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

I  expect  I  couldn't  help  lovin'  you — I've 
done  that  since  the  first  day." 

She  could  not  stop  the  blushes — they 
would  come.  And  so  would  that  thrilling, 
breathless  exultation.  No  man  had  ever 
talked  to  her  like  this;  no  man  had  ever 
made  her  feel  quite  as  she  felt  at  this 
moment.  She  turned  a  crimson  face  to  him. 

"But  you  hadn't  any  right  to  love  me," 
she  declared,  feeling  sure  that  she  had  been 
unable  to  make  him  understand  that  she 
meant  to  rebuke  him.  Evidently  he  did  not 
understand  that  she  meant  to  do  that,  for 
he  unclasped  his  hand  from  his  knee  and 
came  closer  to  her,  standing  at  the  edge  of 
the  rock,  one  hand  resting  upon  it. 

"Of  course  I  didn't  have  any  right,"  he 
said  gravely,  "but  I  loved  you  just  the  same. 
There's  been  some  things  in  my  life  that  I 
couldn't  help  doin'.  Lovin'  you  is  one.  I 
expect  that  you'll  think  I'm  pretty  fresh, 
but  I've  been  thinkin'  a  whole  lot  about  you 
an'  I've  got  to  tell  you.  You  ain't  like  the 
women  I've  been  used  to.  An'  I  reckon  I 
ain't  just  the  kind  of  man  you've  been  ac- 
257 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

quainted  with  all  your  life.  You've  been 
used  to  seein'  men  who  was  all  slicked  up  an' 
clever.  I  expect  them  kind  of  men  appeal 
to  any  woman.  I  ain't  claimin'  to  be  none 
of  them  clever  kind,  but  I've  been  around 
quite  a  little  an'  I  ain't  never  done  anything 
that  I'm  ashamed  of.  I  can't  offer  you  a 
heap,  but  if  you " 

She  had  looked  up  quickly,  her  cheeks 
burning. 

''Please  don't,"  she  pleaded,  rising  and 
placing  a  hand  on  his  arm,  gripping  it  tight 
ly.  "I  have  known  for  a  long  time,  but  I — 
I  wanted  to  be  sure."  He  could  not  suspect 
that  she  had  only  just  now  begun  to  realize 
that  she  was  iia  danger  of  yielding  to  him  and 
that  the  knowledge  frightened  her. 

"You  wanted  to  be  sure?"  he  questioned, 
his  face  clouding.  "What  is  it  that  you 
wanted  to  be  sure  of?" 

"Why,"  she  returned,  laughing  to  hide  her 
embarrassment,  "I  wanted  to  be  sure  that 
you  loved  me!" 

"Well,  you  c'n  be  sure  now,"  he  said. 

"I  believe  I  can,"  she  laughed.  "And," 
258 


rA  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

she  continued,  finding  it  difficult  to  pretend 
seriousness,  "knowing  what  I  do  will  make 
writing  so  much  easier." 

His  face  clouded  again.  "I  don't  see 
what  your  writin'  has  got  to  do  with  it,"  he 
said. 

"You  don't?"  she  demanded,  her  eyes 
widening  with  pretended  surprise.  "Why, 
don't  you  see  that  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of 
your  love  so  that  I  might  be  able  to  portray; 
a  real  love  scene  in  my  story?" 

He  did  not  reply  instantly,  but  folded  his 
arms  over  his  chest  and  stood  looking  at  her. 
In  his  expression  was  much  reproach  and 
not  a  little  disappointment.  The  hopes  that 
had  filled  his  dreams  had  been  ruined  by  her 
frivolous  words;  he  saw  her  at  this  moment 
a  woman  who  had  trifled  with  him,  who  had 
led  him  cleverly  on  to  a  declaration  of  love 
that  she  might  in  the  end  sacrifice  him  to  her 
art.  But  in  this  moment,  when  he  might 
have  been  excused  for  exhibiting  anger ;  for 
heaping  upon  her  the  bitter  reproaches  of  an 
«<  outraged  confidence,  he  was  supremely  calm. 
The  color  fled  from  his  face,  leaving  it  slight- 
259 


THE   TWO-GUN 


ly  pale,  and  his  eyes  swam  with  a  deep  feel 
ing  that  told  of  the  struggle  that  he  was 
making. 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  do  it,  ma'am,"  he  said 
finally,  a  little  hoarsely.  "But  I  reckon  you 
know  your  own  business  best."  He  smiled 
slightly.  "I  don't  think  there's  any  use  of 
you  an'  me  meetin'  again  —  I  don't  want  to 
be  goin'  on,  bein'  a  dummy  man  that  you 
c'n  watch.  But  I'm  glad  to  have  amused 
you  some  an'  I  have  enjoyed  myself,  talkin' 
to  you.  But  I  reckon  you've  done  what  you 
wanted  to  do,  an'  so  I'll  be  gettin'  along." 

He  smiled  grimly  and  with  an  effort 
turned  and  walked  around  the  corner  of  the 
rock,  intending  to  descend  the  hill  and  mount 
his  pony.  But  as  he  passed  around  to  the 
side  of  the  rock  he  heard  her  voice  : 

"Wait,  please,"  she  said  in  a  scarcely; 
audible  voice. 

He  halted,  looking  gravely  at  her  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  rock. 

"You  wantin'  to  get  somethin'  more  for 
your  story?"  he  asked. 

She  turned  and  looked  over  her  shoulder 
260 


rA  BREAK  IN  THE  STORY 

at  him,  her  eyes  luminous  with  a  tell-tale  ex 
pression,  her  face  crimson.  "Why,"  she 
said  smiling  at  him,  "do  you  really  think 
that  I  could  be  so  mean?" 

He  was  around  the  rock  again  in  half  a 
dozen  steps  and  standing  above  her,  his  eyes 
alight,  his  lips  parted  slightly  with  surprise 
and  eagerness. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  wantin'  to  make 
sure  that  I  loved  you  wasn't  all  for  the  sake 
of  the  story?"  he  demanded  rapidly. 

Her  eyes  drooped  away  from  his.  "Didn't 
you  tell  me  that  a  writer  should  be  in  love  in 
order  to  be  able  to  write  of  it?"  she  asked, 
her  face  averted. 

"Yes."  He  was  trembling  a  little  and 
leaning  toward  her.  In  this  position  he 
caught  her  low  reply. 

"I  think  my  love  story  will  be  real,"  she 
returned.  "I  have  learned "  But  what 
ever  she  might  have  wanted  to  add  was 
smothered  when  his  arms  closed  tightly 
about  her. 

A  little  later  she  drew  a  deep  breath  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  moist,  eloquent  eyes. 
261 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

"Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  change  the  story 
a  little,"  she  said. 

He  drew  her  head  to  his  shoulder,  one 
hand  caressing  her  hair.  "If  you  do,"  he 
said  smiling,  "don't  have  the  hero  thinkin' 
that  the  girl  is  makin'  a  fool  of  him."  He 
drew  her  close.  "That  cert'nly  was  a  mighty 
bad  minute  you  give  me,"  he  added. 


362 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    DIM    TRAIL. 

A  SHADOW  fell  upon  the  rock. 
Ferguson  turned  his  head  and 
looked  toward  the  west,  where  the 
sun  had  already  descended  over  the  moun 
tains. 

"Why  it's  sundown!"  he  said,  smiling  into 
Miss  Radford's  eyes.  "I  reckon  the  days 
must  be  gettin'  shorter." 

"The  happy  days  are  always  short,"  she 
returned,  blushing.  He  kissed  her  for  this. 

For  a  while  they  sat,  watching  together 
the  vari -colors  swimming  in  the  sky.  They 
sat  close  together,  saying  little,  for  mere 
words  are  sometimes  inadequate.  In  a  little 
time  the  colors  faded,  the  mountain  peaks 
began  to  throw  sombre  shades;  twilight — 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

gray  and  cold — settled  suddenly  into  the 
flat.  Then  Miss  Radford  raised  her  head 
from  Ferguson's  shoulder  and  sighed. 

"Time  to  go  home,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  time,"  he  returned.  "I'm  ridin' 
down  that  far  with  you." 

They  rose  and  clambered  down  the  hill 
side  and  he  helped  her  into  the  saddle.  Then 
he  mounted  Mustard  and  rode  across  the  flat 
beside  her. 

Darkness  had  fallen  when  they  rode 
through  the  clearing  near  the  cabin  and  dis 
mounted  from  their  ponies  at  the  door.  The 
light  from  the  kerosene  lamp  shone  in  a  dim 
stream  from  the  kitchen  door  and  within 
they  saw  dishes  on  the  table  with  cold  food. 
Ferguson  stood  beside  his  pony  while  Miss 
Radford  went  in  and  explored  the  cabin. 
She  came  to  the  door  presently,  shading  her 
eyes  to  look  out  into  the  darkness. 

"Ben  has  been  here  and  gone,"  she  said. 
"He  can't  be  very  far  away.  Won't  you 
come  in?" 

He  laughed.  "I  don't  think  I'll  come  in," 
he  returned.  "This  lover  business  is  new  to 
26  i 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


me,  an'  I  wouldn't  want  Ben  to  come  back 
an'  ketch  me  blushin'  an'  takin'  on." 

"But  he  has  to  know,"  she  insisted,  laugh 
ing. 

"Sure,"  he  said,  secure  in  the  darkness, 
"but  you  tell  him." 

"I  won't!"  she  declared  positively,  stamp 
ing  a  foot. 

"Then  I  reckon  he  won't  get  told,"  he  re 
turned  quietly. 

"Well,  then,"  she  said,  laughing,  "I  sup 
pose  that  is  settled." 

She  came  out  to  the  edge  of  the  porch, 
away  from  the  door,  where  the  stream  of 
light  from  within  could  not  search  them  out, 
and  there  they  took  leave  of  one  another, 
she  going  back  into  the  cabin  and  he  mount 
ing  Mustard  and  riding  away  in  the  dark 
ness. 

He  was  in  high  spirits,  for  he  had  much 
to  be  thankful  for.  As  he  rode  through  the 
darkness,  skirting  the  cottonwood  in  the  flat, 
he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  wander.  His  re 
fusal  to  enter  the  cabin  had  not  been  a  mere 
whim;  he  intended  on  the  morrow  to  seek 
Mi 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

out  Ben  and  tell  him.  He  had  not  wanted 
to  tell  him  with  her  looking  on  to  make  the 
situation  embarrassing  for  him. 

When  he  thought  of  how  she  had  fooled 
him  by  making  it  appear  that  she  had  led 
him  on  for  the  purpose  of  getting  material 
for  her  love  story,  he  was  moved  to  silent 
mirth.  "But  I  cert'nly  didn't  see  anything 
funny  in  it  while  she  was  puttin'  it  on,"  he 
told  himself,  as  he  rode. 

He  had  not  ridden  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  cabin,  and  was  passing  a 
clump  of  heavy  shrubbery,  when  a  man  rose 
suddenly  out  of  the  shadows  beside  the  trail. 
Startled,  Mustard  reared,  and  then  seeing 
that  the  apparition  was  merely  a  man,  he 
came  quietly  down  and  halted,  shaking  his 
head  sagely.  Ferguson's  right  hand  had 
dropped  swiftly  to  his  right  holster,  but  was 
raised  again  instantly  as  the  man's  voice 
came  cold  and  steady: 

"Get  your  hands  up — quick  I" 

Ferguson's  hands  were  raised,  but  he  gave 
no  evidence  of  fear  or  excitement.  Instead, 
he  leaned  forward,  trying,  in  the  dim  light, 
266 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


to  see  the  man's  face.  The  latter  still  stood 
in  the  shadows.  But  now  he  advanced  a 
little  toward  Ferguson,  and  the  stray-man 
caught  his  breath  sharply.  But  when  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  steady. 

"Why,  it's  Ben  Radford,"  he  said. 

"That's  just  who  it  is,"  returned  Radford. 
"I've  been  waitin'  for  you." 

"That's  right  clever  of  you,"  returned 
Ferguson,  drawling  his  words  a  little.  He 
was  puzzled  over  this  unusual  occurrence, 
but  his  face  did  not  betray  this.  "You  was 
wantin'  to  see  me  then,"  he  added. 

"You're  keen,"  returned  Radford,  sneer 
ing  slightly. 

Ferguson's  face  reddened.  "I  ain't  no 
damn  fool,"  he  said  sharply.  "An'  I  don't 
like  holdin'  my  hands  up  like  this.  I  reckon 
whatever  you're  goin'  to  do  you  ought  to  do 
right  quick." 

"I'm  figuring  to  be  quick,"  returned  Rad- 
lord  shortly.  "Ketch  hold  of  your  guns 
with  the  tips  of  oae  finger  and  one  thumb 
and  drop  them.  Don't  hit  any  rocks  and 
don't  try  any  monkey  business." 
267 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

He  waited  until  Ferguson  had  dropped 
one  gun.  And  then,  knowing  that  the  stray- 
man  usually  wore  two  weapons,  he  continued 
sharply:  "I'm  waiting  for  the  other  one." 

Ferguson  laughed.  "Then  you'll  be 
waitin'  a  long  time.  There  ain't  any  'other 
one/  Broke  a  spring  yesterday  an'  sent  it 
over  to  Cimarron  to  get  it  fixed  up.  You 
c'n  have  it  when  it  comes  back,"  he  added 
with  a  touch  of  sarcasm,  "if  you're  carin'  to 
Wait  that  long." 

Radford  did  not  reply,  but  came  around 
to  Ferguson's  left  side  and  peered  at  the 
holster.  It  was  empty.  Then  he  looked 
carefully  at  the  stray-man's  waist  for  signs 
that  a  weapon  might  have  been  concealed 
between  the  waist-band  and  the  trousers — 
in  front.  Then,  apparently  satisfied,  he 
stepped  back,  his  lips  closed  grimly. 

"Get  off  your  horse,"  he  ordered. 

Ferguson  laughed  as  he  swung  down. 
"Anything  to  oblige  a  friend,"  he  said,  mock 
ingly. 

The  two  men  were  now  not  over  a  yard 
apart,  and  at  Ferguson's  word  Radford's 
268 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


face  became  inflamed  with  wrath.  "I  don't 
think  I'm  a  friend  of  yours,"  he  sneered 
coldly;  "I  ain't  making  friends  with  every 
damned  sneak  that  crawls  around  the 
country,  aiming  to  shoot  a  man  in  the  back." 
He  raised  his  voice,  bitter  with  sarcasm. 
"You're  thinking  that  you're  pretty  slick," 
he  said;  "that  all  you  have  to  do  in  this 
country  is  to  hang  around  till  you  get  a  man 
where  you  want  him  and  then  bore  him.  But 
you've  got  to  the  end  of  your  rope.  You 
ain't  going  to  shoot  anyone  around  here. 

"I'm  giving  you  a  chance  to  say  what 
you've  got  to  say  and  then  I'm  going  to  fill 
you  full  of  lead  and  plant  you  over  in  the 
cottonwood — in  a  place  where  no  one  will 
ever  be  able  to  find  you — not  even  Stafford. 
I'd  have  shot  you  off  your  horse  when  you 
come  around  the  bend,"  he  continued  cold 
ly,  "but  I  wanted  you  to  know  who  was  do 
ing  it  and  that  the  man  that  did  it  knowed 
what  you  come  here  to  do."  He  poised  his 
pistol  menacingly.  "You  got  anything  to 
say?"  he  inquired. 

Ferguson  looked  steadily  from  the  muzzle 
269 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

of  the  poised  weapon  to  Radf ord's  frowning 
eyes.  Then  he  smiled  grimly. 

"Some  one's  been  talkin',"  he  said  evenly. 
He  calmly  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest, 
the  right  hand  slipping  carelessly  under  the 
left  side  of  his  vest.  Then  he  rocked  slowly 
back  and  forth  on  his  heels  and  toes.  "Some 
one's  been  tellin'  you  a  pack  of  lies,"  he 
added.  "I  reckon  you've  wondered,  if  I  was 
goin'  to  shoot  you  in  the  back,  that  I  ain't 
done  it  long  ago.  You're  admittin'  that  I've 
had  some  chance." 

Radf  or  d  sneered.  "I  ain't  wondering 
why  you  ain't  done  it  before,"  he  said. 
"Mebbe  it  was  because  you're  too  white 
livered.  Mebbe  you  thought  you  didn't  see 
your  chance.  I  ain't  worrying  none  about 
why  you  didn't  do  it.  But  you  ain't  going 
to  get  another  chance."  The  weapon  came 
to  a  foreboding  level. 

Ferguson  laughed  grimly,  but  there  was 
an  ironic  quality  in  his  voice  that  caught 
Radford's  ear.  It  seemed  to  Radford  that 
the  stray-man  knew  that  he  was  near  death, 
and  yet  some  particular  phase  of  the  situa- 
270 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


tion  appealed  to  his  humor — grim  though  it 
was.  It  came  out  when  the  stray-man 
spoke. 

"You've  been  gassin'  just  now  about 
shootin'  people  in  the  back — sayin'  that  I've 
been  thinkin'  of  doin'  it.  But  I  reckon  you 
ain't  thought  a  lot  about  the  way  you're  in- 
tendin'  to  put  me  out  of  business.  I  was 
wonderin'  if  it  made  any  difference — shoot- 
in'  a  man  in  the  back  or  shootin'  him  when 
he  ain't  got  any  guns.  I  expect  a  man  that's 
shot  when  he  ain't  got  guns  would  be  just 
as  dead  as  a  man  that's  shot  in  the  back, 
wouldn't  he?" 

He  laughed  again,  his  eyes  gleaming  in 
the  dim  light.  "That's  the  reason  I  ain't 
scared  a  heap,"  he  said.  "From  what  I 
know  about  you  you  ain't  the  man  to  shoot 
another  without  givin'  him  a  chance.  An' 
you're  givin'  me  a  chance  to  talk.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  do  any  prayin'.  I  reckon  that's 
right?" 

Radford  shifted  his  feet  uneasily.  He 
could  not  have  told  at  that  moment  whether 
or  not  he  had  intended  to  murder  Ferguson. 
271 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

He  had  waylaid  him  with  that  intention, 
utterly  forgetful  that  by  shooting  the  stray- 
man  he  would  be  committing  the  very  crime 
which  he  had  accused  Ferguson  of  contem 
plating.  The  muzzle  of  his  weapon  drooped 
uncertainly. 

"Talk  quick!"  he  said  shortly. 

Ferguson  grinned.  "I'm  takin'  my  time," 
he  returned.  "There  ain't  any  use  of  bein' 
in  such  an  awful  hurry — time  don't  amount 
to  much  when  a  man's  talkin'  for  his  life. 
I  ain't  askin'  who  told  you  what  you've  said 
about  me — I've  got  a  pretty  clear  idea  who 
it  was.  I've  had  to  tell  a  man  pretty  plain 
that  my  age  has  got  its  growth  an'  I  don't 
think  that  man  is  admirin'  me  much  for  bein' 
told.  But  if  he's  wantin'  to  have  me  put 
out  of  business  he's  goin'  to  do  the  job  him 
self—Ben  Radford  ain't  doin'  it."  * 

While  he  had  been  talking  he  had  con 
trived  to  throw  the  left  side  of  his  vest  open, 
and  his  right  hand  was  exposed  in  the  dim 
light — a  heavy  six-shooter  gleaming  fore 
bodingly  in  it.  His  arms  were  still  crossed, 
but  as  he  talked  he  had  turned  a  very  little 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


and  now  the  muzzle  of  the  weapon  was  at  a 
level — trained  fairly  upon  Radf ord's  breast. 
And  then  came  Ferguson's  voice  again, 
quiet,  cold,  incisive. 

"If  there's  goin'  to  be  any  shootin',  Ben, 
there'll  be  two  of  us  doin'  it.  Don't  be  afraid 
that  you'll  beat  me  to  it.'*  And  he  stared 
grimly  over  the  short  space  that  separated 
them. 

For  a  full  minute  neither  man  moved  a 
muscle.  Silence — a  premonitory  silence — 
fell  over  them  as  they  stood,  each  with  a 
steady  finger  dragging  uncertainly  upon  the 
trigger  of  his  weapon.  An  owl  hooted  in  the 
cottonwood  nearby ;  other  noises  of  the  night 
reached  their  ears.  Unaware  of  this  crisis 
Mustard  grazed  unconcernedly  at  a  dis 
tance. 

Then  Radford's  weapon  wavered  a  little 
and  dropped  to  his  side. 

"This  game's  too  certain,"  he  said. 

Ferguson  laughed,  and  his  six-shooter  dis 
appeared  as  mysteriously  as  it  had  ap 
peared.  "I  thought  I'd  be  able  to  make  you 
see  the  point,"  he  said.  "It  don't  always 
273 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

•I^^HHBH^BHHHHHMiHBH^BH^^^HHMaMMH^HHHHMHBHMBHMHttflHNBt 

pay  to  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  do  a 
thing,"  he  continued  gravely.  "An'  I  reckon 
I've  proved  that  someone's  been  lying  about 
me.  If  I'd  wanted  to  shoot  you  I  could 
have  done  it  quite  a  spell  ago — I  had  you 
covered  just  as  soon  as  I  crossed  my  arms. 
,You'd  never  knowed  about  it.  That  I 
didn't  shoot  proves  that  whoever  told  you  I 
was  after  you  has  been  romancin'."  He 
laughed. 

"An'  now  I'm  tellin'  you  another  thing 
that  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you  about  to-morrow. 
Mebbe  you'll  want  to  shoot  me  for  that. 
But  if  you  do  I  expect  you'll  have  a  woman 
to  fight.  Me  an'  Mary  has  found  that  we're 
of  one  mind  about  a  thing.  We're  goin'  to 
hook  up  into  a  double  harness.  I  reckon 
when  I'm  your  brother-in-law  you  won't  be 
so  worried  about  shootin'  me." 

Bradford's  astonishment  showed  for  a 
moment  in  his  eyes  as  his  gaze  met  the  stray- 
man's.  Then  they  drooped  guiltily. 

"Well  I'm  a  damn  fool!"  he  said  finally. 
"I  might  have  knowed  that  Mary  wouldn't 
get  afoul  of  any  man  who  was  thinkin'  of 
274 


THE  DIM  TRAIL 


doing  dirt  to  me."  He  suddenly  extended  a 
hand.  "You  shakin'?"  he  said. 

Ferguson  took  the  hand,  gripping  it  tight 
ly.  Neither  man  spoke.  Then  Radford 
suddenly  unclasped  his  hand  and  turned, 
striding  rapidly  up  the  trail  toward  the 
cabin. 

For  a  moment  Ferguson  stood,  looking 
after  him  with  narrowed,  friendly  eyes. 
Then  he  walked  to  Mustard,  threw  the  bridle 
rein  -  over  the  pommel  of  the  saddle, 
mounted,  and  was  off  at  a  rapid  lope  to 
ward  the  Two  Diamond. 


275 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

NOW  that  Mary  Radf ord  had  obtained 
experience  for  the  love  scene  in  her 
story  it  might  be  expected  that  on 
returning  to  the  cabin  she  would  get  out  her 
writing  materials  and  attempt  to  transcribe 
the  emotions  that  had  beset  her  during  the 
afternoon,  but  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 
After  Ferguson's  departure  she  removed  her 
riding  garments,  walked  several  times 
around  the  interior  of  the  cabin,  and  for  a 
long  time  studied  her  face  in  the  looking 
glass.  Yes,  she  discovered  the  happiness 
shining  out  of  the  glass.  Several  times, 
standing  before  the  glass,  she  attempted  to 
keep  the  lines  of  her  face  in  repose,  and 
though  she  almost  succeeded  in  doing  this 
she  could  not  control  her  eyes — tiiey  simply; 
276 


THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

would  gleam  with  the  light  that  seemed  to 
say  to  her:  "You  may  deceive  people  by 
making  a  mask  of  your  face,  but  the  eyes  are 
the  windows  of  the  soul  and  through  them 
people  will  see  your  secret." 

Ben  hadn't  eaten  much,  she  decided,  as 
she  seated  herself  at  the  table,  after  pouring 
a  cup  of  tea.  Before  she  had  finished  her 
meal  she  had  begun  to  wonder  over  his  ab 
sence — it  was  not  his  custom  to  go  away  in 
the  night.  She  thought  he  might  have  gone 
to  the  corral,  or  might  even  be  engaged  in 
some  small  task  in  the  stable.  So  after  com 
pleting  her  meal  she  rose  and  went  to  the 
door,  looking  out. 

There  was  no  moon,  only  the  starlight, 
but  in  this  she  was  able  to  distinguish  objects 
in  the  clearing,  and  if  Ben  had  been  work 
ing  about  anywhere  she  must  have  noticed 
him.  She  returned  to  the  table  and  sat  there 
long,  pondering.  Then  she  rose,  heated 
some  water,  and  washed  and  dried  the 
dishes.  Then  she  swept  the  kitchen  floor 
and  tidied  things  up  a  bit,  returning  to  the 
door  when  all  was  complete. 
£77 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

Still  no  signs  that  Ben  was  anywhere  in 
the  vicinity.  She  opened  the  screen  door 
and  went  out  upon  the  porch,  leaning 
against  one  of  the  slender  posts.  For  a  long 
time  she  stood  thus,  listening  to  the  in 
describable  noises  of  the  night.  This  was 
only  the  second  time  since  she  had  been  with 
Ben  that  he  had  left  her  alone  at  night,  and 
a  slight  chill  stole  over  her  as  she  watched 
the  dense  shadows  beyond  the  clearing, 
shadows  that  seemed  suddenly  dismal  and 
foreboding.  She  had  loved  the  silence,  but 
now  suddenly  it  too  seemed  too  deep,  too 
solemn  to  be  real.  She  shuddered,  and  with 
some  unaccountable  impulse  shrank  back 
against  the  screen  door,  one  hand  upon  it, 
ready  to  throw  it  open.  In  this  position  she 
stood  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  from 
somewhere  in  the  flat  came  a  slight  sound — 
and  then,  after  a  short  interval,  another. 

She  shrank  back  again,  a  sudden  fear 
chilling  her,  her  hands  clasped  over  her 
breast. 

"Someone  is  shooting,"  she  said  aloud. 

She  waited  long  for  a  repetition  of  the 
878 


THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

sounds.  But  she  did  not  hear  them  again. 
Tremblingly  she  returned  to  the  cabin  and 
resumed  her  chair  at  the  table,  fighting 
against  a  growing  presentiment  that  some 
thing  had  gone  wrong  with  Ben.  But  she 
could  not  have  told  from  what  direction  the 
sounds  had  come,  and  so  it  would  have  been 
folly  for  her  to  ride  out  to  investigate.  And 
so  for  an  hour  she  sat  at  the  table,  cringing 
away  from  the  silence,  starting  at  intervals, 
when  her  imagination  tricked  her  into  the 
belief  that  sound  had  begun. 

And  then  presently  she  became  aware  that 
there  was  sound.  In  the  vast  silence  beyond 
the  cabin  door  something  had  moved.  She 
was  on  her  feet  instantly,  her  senses  alert. 
Her  fear  had  left  her.  Her  face  was  pale, 
but  her  lips  closed  grimly  as  she  went  to  the 
rack  behind  the  door  and  took  down  a  rifle 
that  Ben  always  kept  there.  Then  she 
turned  the  lamp  low  and  cautiously  stepped 
to  the  door. 

A  pony  whinnied,  standing  with  ears  erect 
at  the  edge  of  the  porch.  In  a  crumpled 
heap  on  the  ground  lay  a  man.  She  caught 
379 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

her  breath  sharply,  but  in  the  next  instant 

was  out  and  bending  over  him.     With  a 

strength  that  seemed  almost  beyond  her  shte 

!  dragged  the  limp  form  to  the  door  where 

!  the  light  from  the  lamp  shone  upon  it. 

"Ben!"  she  said  sharply.  "What  has 
happened?"  She  shook  him  slightly,  calling 
again  to  him. 

Aroused,  he  opened  his  eyes,  recognized 
her,  and  raised  himself  painfully  upon  one 
elbow,  smiling  weakly. 

"It  ain't  anything,  sis,"  he  said.  "Creased 
in  the  back  of  the  head.  Knocked  me  cold. 
Mebbe  my  shoulder  too — I  ain't  been  able 
to  lift  my  arm."  He  smiled  again — grimly, 
though  wearily.  "From  the  back  too.  The 
damned  sneak!" 

Her  eyes  filled  vengefully,  and  she  leaned 
closer  to  him,  her  voice  tense.  "Who,  Ben? 
Who  did  it?" 

"Ferguson,"  he  said  sharply.  And  again, 
as  his  eyes  closed:  "The  damned  sneak." 

She  swayed  dizzily  and  came  very  near 
dropping  him  to  the  porch  floor.  But  no 
sound  came  from  her,  and  presently  when 
280 


THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

the  dizziness  had  passed,  she  dragged  him  to 
the  door,  propped  it  open  with  a  chair,  and 
then  dragged  him  on  through  the  opening 
to  the  kitchen,  and  from  there  to  one  of  the 
adjoining  rooms.  Then  with  pale  face  and 
determined  lips  she  set  about  the  work  of 
taking  care  of  Ben's  wounds.  The  spot  on 
the  back  of  the  head,  she  found,  was  a  mere 
abrasion,  as  he  had  said.  But  his  shoulder 
had  been  shattered,  the  bullet,  she  dis 
covered,  having  passed  clear  through  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  shoulder,  after  breaking 
one  of  the  smaller  bones. 

Getting  her  scissors  she  clipped  away  the 
hair  from  the  back  of  his  head  and  sponged 
the  wound  and  bandaged  it,  convinced  that 
of  itself  it  was  not  dangerous.  Then  she  un 
dressed  him,  and  by  the  use  of  plenty  of 
clear,  cold  water,  a  sponge,  and  some 
bandages,  stopped  the  flow  of  blood  in  his 
shoulder  and  placed  him  in  a  comfortable 
position.  He  had  very  little  fever,  but  she 
moved  rapidly  around  him,  taking  his 
temperature,  administering  sedatives  when 
he  showed  signs  of  restlessness,  hovering 
281 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

over  him  constantly  until  the  dawn  began  to 
come. 

Soon  after  this  he  went  off  into  a  peaceful 
sleep,  and,  almost  exhausted  with  her  efforts 
and  the  excitement,  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  floor  beside  his  bed,  sacrificing  her  own 
comfort  that  she  might  be  near  to  watch 
should  he  need  her.  It  was  late  in  the  after 
noon  when  Radford  opened  his  eyes  to  look 
out  through  the  door  that  connected  his  room 
with  the  kitchen  and  saw  his  sister  busying 
herself  with  the  dishes.  His  mind  was  clear 
and  he  suffered  very  little  pain.  For  a  long 
time  he  lay,  quietly  watching  her,  while  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  meeting  on  the 
trail  with  Ferguson.  Why  hadn't  he  carried 
out  his  original  intention  of  shooting  the 
stray-man  down  from  ambush?  He  had 
doubted  Leviatt's  word  and  had  hesitated, 
wishing  to  give  Ferguson  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,  and  had  received  his  reward  in  the 
shape  of  a  bullet  in  the  back — after  practi 
cally  making  a  peace  pact  with  his  intended 
victim. 

He  presently  became  aware  that  his  sister 
£8* 


THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

was  standing  near  him,  and  he  looked  up 
and  smiled  at  her.  Then  in  an  instant  she 
was  kneeling  beside  him,  admonishing  him 
to  quietness,  smoothing  his  forehead,  giving 
delighted  little  gasps  over  his  improved  con 
dition.  But  in  spite  of  her  evident  cheerful 
ness  there  was  a  suggestion  of  trouble 
swimming  deep  in  her  eyes;  he  could  not 
help  but  see  that  she  was  making  a  brave 
attempt  to  hide  her  bitter  disappointment 
over  the  turn  things  had  taken.  Therefore 
he  was  not  surprised  when,  after  she  had 
attended  to  all  his  wants,  she  sank  on  her 
knees  beside  him. 

"Ben,"  she  said,  trying  to  keep  a  quiver 
out  of  her  voice,  "are  you  sure  it  was  Fer 
guson  who  shot  you?" 

He  patted  her  hand  tenderly  and 
sympathetically  with  his  uninjured  one. 
"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Mary,"  he  returned, 
"but  there  ain't  any  doubt  about  it."  Then 
he  told  her  of  the  warning  he  had  received 
from  Leviatt,  and  when  he  saw  her  lips  curl 
at  the  mention  of  the  Two  Diamond  range 
boss's  name  he  smiled. 
*8S 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

"I  thought  the  same  thing  that  you  are 
thinking,  Mary,"  he  said.  "And  I  didn't 
want  to  shoot  Ferguson.  But  as  things 
have  turned  out  I  wouldn't  have  been  much 
wrong  to  have  done  iK" 

She  raised  her  head  from  the  coverlet. 
"Did  you  see  him  before  he  shot  you?"  she 
(questioned  eagerly. 

"Just  a  little  before,"  he  returned.  "I 
met  him  at  a  turn  in  the  trail  about  half  a 
mile  from  here.  I  made  him  get  down  off 
his  horse  and  drop  his  guns.  We  had  a  talk, 
for  I  didn't  want  to  shoot  him  until  I  was 
sure,  and  he  talked  so  clever  that  I  thought 
he  was  telling  the  truth.  But  he  wasn't." 

He  told  her  about  Ferguson's  concealed 
pistol;  how  they  had  stood  face  to  face  with 
death  between  them,  concluding:  "By  that 
time  I  had  decided  not  to  shoot  him.  But 
he  didn't  have  the  nerve  to  pull  the  trigger 
when  he  was  looking  at  me.  He  waited 
until  I'd  got  on  my  horse  and  was  riding 
away.  Then  he  sneaked  up  behind." 

He  saw  her  body  shiver,  and  he  caressed 
her  hair  slowly,  telling  her  that  he  was  sorry 
284 


THE  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 

things  had  turned  out  so,  and  promising  her 
that  when  he  recovered  he  would  bring  the 
Two  Diamond  stray-man  to  a  strict  account 
ing — providing  the  latter  didn't  leave  the 
country  before.  But  he  saw  that  his  words 
had  given  her  little  comfort,  for  when  an 
hour  or  so  later  he  dropped  off  to  sleep  the 
last  thing  he  saw  was  her  seated  at  the  table 
in  the  kitchen,  her  head  bowed  in  her  hands, 
crying  softly. 

"Poor  little  kid,"  he  said,  as  sleep  dimmed 
his  eyes;  "it  looks  as  though  this  would  be 
the  end  of  her  story." 


385 


CHAPTER  XX 

LOVE  AND  A  EIFLE 

FERGUSON   did  not  visit  Miss  Rad- 
f  ord  the  next  morning — he  had  seen 
Leviatt  and  Tucson  depart  from  the 
ranchhouse,  had  observed  the  direction  they 
took,  and  had  followed  them.    For  twenty 
miles  he  had  kept  them  in  sight,  watching 
them  with  a  stern  patience  that  had  brought 
its  reward. 

They  had  ridden  twenty  miles  straight 
down  the  river,  when  Ferguson,  concealed 
behind  a  ridge,  saw  them  suddenly  disappear 
into  a  little  basin.  Then  he  rode  around  the 
ridge,  circled  the  rim  of  hills  that  surrounded 
the  basin,  and  dismounting  from  his  pony, 
crept  through  a  scrub  oak  thicket  to  a  point 
where  he  could  look  directly  down  upon 
them. 

286 


LOVE  AND  A  RIFLE 


He  was  surprised  into  a  subdued  whistle. 
Below  him  in  the  basin  was  an  adobe  hut. 
He  had  been  through  this  section  of  the 
country  several  times  but  had  never  before 
stumbled  upon  the  hut.  This  was  not  re 
markable,  for  situated  as  it  was,  in  this 
little  basin,  hidden  from  sight  by  a  serried 
line  of  hills  and  ridges  among  which  no  cow- 
puncher  thought  to  travel — nor  cared  to — , 
the  cabin  was  as  safe  from  prying  eyes  as  it 
was  possible  for  a  human  habitation  to  be. 

There  was  a  small  corral  near  the  cabin, 
in  which  there  were  several  steers,  half  a 
dozen  cows,  and  perhaps  twenty  calves.  As 
Ferguson's  eyes  took  in  the  latter  detail, 
they  glittered  with  triumph.  Not  even  the 
wildest  stretch  of  the  imagination  could  pro 
duce  twenty  calves  from  half  a  dozen  cows. 

But  Ferguson  did  not  need  this  evidence 
to  convince  him  that  the  men  who  occupied 
the  cabin  were  rustlers.  Honest  men  did 
not  find  it  necessary  to  live  in  a  basin  in  the 
hills  where  they  were  shut  in  from  sight  of 
the  open  country.  Cattle  thieves  did  not  al 
ways  find  it  necessary  to  do  so — unless  they; 
287 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

were  men  like  these,  who  had  no  herds  of 
their  own  among  which  to  conceal  their  ill- 
gotten  beasts.  He  was  convinced  that  these 
men  were  migratory  thieves,  who  operated 
upon  the  herds  nearest  them,  remained  until 
they  had  accumulated  a  considerable  number 
of  cattle,  and  then  drove  the  entire  lot  to 
some  favored  friend  who  was  not  averse  to 
running  the  risk  of  detection  if  through  that 
risk  he  came  into  possession  of  easily  earned 
money. 

There  were  two  of  the  men,  beside  Leviatt 
and  Tucson — tall,  rangy — looking  their 
part.  Ferguson  watched  them  for  half  an 
hour,  and  then,  convinced  that  he  would 
gain  nothing  more  by  remaining  there,  he 
stealthily  backed  down  the  hillside  to  where 
his  pony  stood,  mounted,  and  rode  toward 
the  river. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  entered  Bear 
Flat,  urged  his  pony  at  a  brisk  pace  across 
it,  and  just  before  sundown  drew  rein  in 
front  of  the  Radf ord  cabin.  He  dismounted 
and  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  porch,  a  smile 
of  anticipation  on  his  lips.  The  noise  of  his 
£88 


LOVE  AND  A  RIFLE 


arrival  brought  Mary  Radford  to  the  door. 
She  came  out  upon  the  porch,  and  he  saw 
that  her  face  was  pale  and  her  lips  firmly 
set.  Apparently  something  had  gone  amiss 
with  her  and  he  halted,  looking  at  her  ques- 
tioningly. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked. 

"You  ought  to  know,"  she  returned 
quietly. 

"I  ain't  good  at  guessin'  riddles,"  he  re 
turned,  grinning  at  her. 

"There  is  no  riddle,"  she  answered,  still 
quietly.  She  came  forward  until  she  stood 
within  two  paces  of  him,  her  eyes  meeting 
his  squarely.  "When  you  left  here  last  night 
did  you  meet  Ben  on  the  trail?"  she  con 
tinued  steadily. 

He  started,  reddening  a  little.  "Why, 
yes,"  he  returned,  wondering  if  Ben  had 
told  her  what  had  been  said  at  that  meeting ; 
"was  he  tellin'  you  about  it?" 

"Yes,"  she  returned  evenly,  "he  has  been 
telling  me  about  it.  That  should  be  suffi 
cient  for  you.  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  met 
you.  You  should  know  why.  If  I  were  you 
289 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

I  should  not  lose  any  time  in  getting  away; 
from  here." 

Her  voice  was  listless,  even  flat,  but  there 
i  was  a  grim  note  in  it  that  told  that  she  was 
keeping  her  composure  with  difficulty.  He 
laughed,  thinking  that  since  he  had  made 
the  new  agreement  with  the  Two  Diamond 
manager  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  "I  reckon 
I  ought  to  be  scared,"  he  returned,  "but  I 
ain't.  An'  I  don't  consider  that  I'm  losin' 
any  time." 

Her  lips  curved  sarcastically.  "You  have 
said  something  like  that  before,"  she  told 
him,  her  eyes  glittering  scornfully.  "You 
have  a  great  deal  of  faith  in  your  ability  to 
fool  people.  But  you  have  miscalculated 
this  time. 

"I  know  why  you  have  come  to  the  Two 
Diamond.  I  know  what  made  you  come 
over  here  so  much.  Of  course  I  am  partly 
to  blame.  You  have  fooled  me  as  you  have 
fooled  everyone."  She  stood  suddenly  erect, 
her  eyes  flashing.  "If  you  planned  to  kill 
my  brother,  why  did  you  not  have  the  man 
hood  to  meet  him  face  to  face?" 
290 


LOVE  AND  A  RIFLE 


Ferguson  flushed.  Would  it  help  his  case 
to  deny  that  he  had  thought  of  fooling  her, 
that  he  never  had  any  intention  of  shooting 
Ben?  He  thought  not.  Leviatt  had 
poisoned  her  mind  against  him.  He  smiled 
grimly. 

"Someone's  been  talkin',"  he  said  quietly. 
"You'd  be  helpin'  to  make  this  case  clear  if 
you'd  tell  who  it  was." 

"Someone  has  talked,"  she  replied;  "some 
one  who  knows.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  you  came  here  to  kill  Ben?  That  you 
were  hired  by  Stafford  to  do  it?" 

"Why,  I  didn't,  ma'am,"  he  protested,  his 
face  paling. 

"You  did!"  She  stamped  one  foot 
vehemently. 

Ferguson's  eyes  drooped.  "I  came  here 
to  see  if  Ben  was  rustlin'  cattle,  ma'am,"  he 
confessed  frankly.  "But  I  wasn't  intendin' 
to  shoot  him.  Why,  I've  had  lots  of 
chances,  an'  I  didn't  do  it.  Ain't  that  proof 
enough?" 

"No,"  she  returned,  her  voice  thrilling 
jmth  a  sudden,  bitter  irony,  "you  didn't  shoot 
291 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

him.  That  is,  you  didn't  shoot  him  while 
he  was  looking  at  you — when  there  was  a 
chance  that  he  might  have  given  you  as  good 
as  you  sent.  No,  you  didn't  shoot  him  then 
— you  waited  until  his  back  was  turned.  You 
— you  coward!" 

Ferguson's  lips  whitened.  "You're  talk- 
in'  extravagant,  ma'am,"  he  said  coldly. 
"Somethin'  is  all  mixed  up.  Has  someone 
been  shootin'  Ben?" 

She  sneered,  pinning  him  with  a  scornful, 
withering  glance.  "I  expected  that  you 
would  deny  it,"  she  returned.  "That  would 
be  following  out  your  policy  of  deception." 

He  leaned  forward,  his  eyes  wide  with 
surprise.  If  she  had  not  been  laboring  un 
der  the  excitement  of  the  incident  she  might 
have  seen  that  his  surprise  was  genuine,  but 
she  was  certain  that  it  was  mere  craftiness — 
a  craftiness  that  she  had  hitherto  admired, 
but  which  now  awakened  a  fierce  anger  in 
her  heart. 

"When  was  he  shot?"  he  questioned  quiet- 

ly. 

"Last  night,"  she  answered  scornfully. 
292 


LOVE  AND  A  RIFLE 


"Of  course  that  is  a  surprise  to  you  too.  An 
hour  after  you  left  he  rode  up  to  the  cabin 
and  fell  from  his  horse  at  the  edge  of  the 
porch.  He  had  been  shot  twice — both  times 
in  the  back."  She  laughed — almost  hysteri 
cally.  "Oh,  you  knew  enough  not  to  take 
chances  with  him  in  spite  of  your  bragging 
— in  spite  of  the  reputation  you  have  of  be 
ing  a  'two-gun'  man!" 

He  winced  under  her  words,  his  face 
whitening,  his  lips  twitching,  his  hands 
clenched  that  he  might  not  lose  his  com 
posure.  But  in  spite  of  the  conflict  that  was 
going  on  within  him  at  the  moment  he  man 
aged  to  keep  his  voice  quiet  and  even.  It 
was  admirable  acting,  she  thought,  her  eyes 
burning  with  passion — despicable,  con 
temptible  acting. 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  the  snake  you  think  I 
um,  ma'am,"  he  said,  looking  steadily  at  her. 
"'But  I'm  admittin'  that  mebbe  you've  got 
cause  to  think  so.  When  I  left  Ben  last 
night  I  shook  hands  with  him,  after  fixin' 
up  the  difference  we'd  had.  Why,  ma'am," 
he  went  on  earnestly,  "I'd  just  got  through 
293 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

tellin'  him  about  you  an'  me  figgerin'  to  get 
hooked  up.  An'  do  you  think  I'd  shoot  him 
after  that?  Why,  if  I'd  been  wantin'  to 
shoot  him  I  reckon  there  was  nothin'  to 
stop  me  while  he  was  standin'  there.  He'd 
never  knowed  what  struck  him.  I'm  tellin' 
you  that  I  didn't  know  he  was  shot; 
that " 

She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "I 
don't  think  I  care  to  hear  any  more,"  she 
said.  "I  heard  the  shots  here  on  the  porch. 
I  suppose  you  were  so  far  away  at  that  time 
that  you  couldn't  hear  them?" 

He  writhed  again  under  the  scorn  in  her 
voice.  But  he  spoke  again,  earnestly.  "I 
did  hear  some  shootin',"  he  said,  "after  I'd 
gone  on  a  ways.  But  I  reckoned  it  was 
Ben." 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  would  be  shoot 
ing  at  at  that  time  of  the  night?"  she  de 
manded. 

"Why,  I  don't  remember  that  I  was  doin3 

a  heap  of  wonderin'  at  that  time  about  it," 

he  returned  hesitatingly.    "Mebbe  I  thought 

he  was  shootin'  at  a  sage-hen,  or  a  prairie- 

294 


LOVE  'AND  A  RIFLE 


dog — or  somethin'.  I've  often  took  a  shot  at ' 
somethin'  like  that — when  I've  been  alone 
that  way."  He  took  a  step  toward  her,  his 
whole  lithe  body  alive  and  tingling  with 
earnestness.  "Why,  ma'am,  there's  a  big 
mistake  somewheres.  If  I  could  talk  to  Ben 
I'm  sure  I  could  explain " 

She  drew  her  skirts  close  and  stepped 
back  toward  the  door.  "There  is  nothing  to 
explain — now,"  she  said  coldly.  "Ben  is 
doing  nicely,  and  when  he  has  fully  re 
covered  you  will  have  a  chance  to  explain  to 
him — if  you  are  not  afraid." 

"Afraid?"  he  laughed  grimly.  "I  expect, 
ma'am,  that  things  look  pretty  bad  for  me. 
They  always  do  when  someone's  tryin'  to 
make  'em.  I  reckon  there  ain't  any  use  of 
tryin'  to  straighten  it  out  now — you  won't 
listen.  But  I'm  tellin'  you  this:  When 
everything  comes  out  you'll  see  that  I  didn't 
shoot  your  brother." 

"Of  course  not,"  sneered  the  girl.    "You 
did  not  shoot  him.     Stafford  did  not  hire 
you  to  do  it.    You  didn't  come  here,  pre 
tending  that  you   had   been   bitten  by   a 
295 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^i 

rattler,  so  that  you  might  have  a  chance  to 
worm  yourself  into  my  brother's  favor — 
and  then  shoot  him.  You  haven't  been 
hanging  around  Bear  Flat  all  summer,  pre 
tending  to  look  for  stray  Two  Diamond 
cattle.  You  haven't  been  trying  to  make  a 

fool  of  me "  Her  voice  trembled  and 

her  lips  quivered  suspiciously. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Ferguson,  deeply 
moved;  "I'm  awful  sorry  you're  lookin'  at 
things  like  you  are.  But  I  wasn't  thinkin' 
to  try  an'  make  a  fool  of  you.  Things  that 
I  said  to  you  I  meant.  I  wouldn't  say 
things  to  a  girl  that  I  said  to  you  if " 

She  had  suddenly  stepped  into  the  cabin 
and  as  suddenly  reappeared  holding  the  rifle 
that  was  kept  always  behind  the  door.  She 
stood  rigid  on  the  porch,  her  eyes  blazing 
through  the  moisture  in  them. 

"You  go  now!"  she  commanded  hotly; 
"I've  heard  enough  of  your  lies !  Get  away 
from  this  cabin!  If  I  ever  see  you  around 
here  again  I  won't  wait  for  Ben  to  shoot 
you!" 

Ferguson  hesitated,  a  deep  red  mounting 
296 


AND  A   RIFLE 


over  the  scarf  at  his  throat.  Then  his  voice 
rose,  tingling  with  regret.  "There  ain't  any 
use  of  me  sayin'  anything  now,  ma'am,"  he 
said.  "You  wouldn't  listen.  I'm  goin' 
away,  of  course,  because  you  want  me  to. 
You  didn't  need  to  get  that  gun  if  you 
wanted  to  hurt  me  —  what  you've  said  would 
have  been  enough."  He  bowed  to  her,  not 
even  looking  at  the  rifle.  "I'm  goin'  now," 
he  concluded.  "But  I'm  comin'  back.  You'll 
know  then  whether  I'm  the  sneak  you've  said 
I  was." 

He  bowed  again  over  the  pony's  mane  and 
urged  the  animal  around  the  corner  of  the 
cabin,  striking  the  trail  that  led  through  the 
flat  toward  the  Two  Diamond  ranchhouse. 


297 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  PROMISE 

FERGUSON  heard  loud  talking  and 
laughter  in  the  bunkhouse  when  he 
passed  there  an  hour  after  his  de 
parture  from  the  Radford  cabin  in  Bear 
Flat.  It  was  near  sundown  and  the  boys 
were  eating  supper.  Ferguson  smiled  grim 
ly  as  he  rode  his  pony  to  the  corral  gate,  dis 
mounted,  pulled  off  the  bridle  and  saddle, 
and  turned  the  animal  into  the  corral.  The 
presence  of  the  boys  at  the  bunkhouse  meant 
that  the  wagon  outfit  had  come  in — meant 
that  Leviatt  would  have  to  come  in — if  he 
had  not  already  done  so. 

The  stray-man's  movements  were  very  de 
liberate  ;  there  was  an  absence  of  superfluous 
energy  that  told  of  intensity  of  thought  and 


THE  PROMISE 


singleness  of  purpose.  He  shouldered  the 
saddle  with  a  single  movement,  walked  with 
it  to  the  lean-to,  threw  it  upon  its  accus 
tomed  peg,  hung  the  bridle  from  the  pom 
mel,  and  then  turned  and  for  a  brief  time 
listened  to  the  talk  and  laughter  that  issued 
from  the  open  door  and  windows  of  the 
bunkhouse.  With  a  sweep  of  his  hands  he 
drew  his  two  guns  from  their  holsters,  rolled 
the  cylinders  and  examined  them  minutely. 
Then  he  replaced  the  guns,  hitched  at  his 
cartridge  belt,  and  stepped  out  of  the  door 
of  the  lean-to. 

In  spite  of  his  promise  to  Mary  Radford 
to  the  effect  that  he  would  return  to  prove 
to  her  that  he  was  not  the  man  who  had  at 
tempted  to  kill  her  brother  he  had  no  hope 
of  discovering  the  guilty  man.  His  sus 
picions,  of  course,  centered  upon  Leviatt, 
but  he  knew  that  under  the  circumstances 
Mary  Radford  would  have  to  be  given  con 
vincing  proof.  The  attempted  murder  of 
her  brother,  following  the  disclosure  that  he 
had  been  hired  by  Stafford  to  do  the  deed, 
must  have  seemed  to  her  sufficient  evidence 
299 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

of  his  guilt.  He  did  not  blame  her  for  feel 
ing  bitter  toward  him ;  she  had  done  the  only 
thing  natural  under  the  circumstances.  He 
had  been  very  close  to  the  garden  of  happi 
ness — just  close  enough  to  scent  its  promise 
of  fulfilled  joy,  when  the  gates  had  been 
violently  closed  in  his  face,  to  leave  him 
standing  without,  contemplating  the  ragged 
path  over  which  he  must  return  to  the  old 
life. 

He  knew  that  Leviatt  had  been  the  instru 
ment  that  had  caused  the  gates  to  close;  he 
knew  that  it  had  been  he  who  had  dropped 
the  word  that  had  caused  the  finger  of  ac-* 
cusation  to  point  to  him.  "Stafford  didn't 
hire  you  to  do  it,"  Mary  Radford  had  said, 
ironically.  The  words  rang  in  his  ears  still. 
Who  had  told  her  that  Stafford  had  hired 
him  to  shoot  Radford?  Surely  not  Stafford. 
He  himself  had  not  hinted  at  the  reason  of 
his  presence  at  the  Two  Diamond.  And 
there  was  only  one  other  man  who  knew. 
That  man  was  Leviatt.  As  he  stood  beside 
the  door  of  the  lean-to  the  rage  in  his  heart 
against  the  range  boss  grew  more  bitter,  and 
300 


THE  PROMISE 


the  lines  around  his  mouth  straightened 
more  grimly. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  stalked  into  the 
bunkhouse,  among  the  men  who,  after  finish 
ing  their  meal,  were  lounging  about,  their 
small  talk  filling  the  room.  The  talk  died 
away  as  he  entered,  the  men  adroitly  gave 
him  room,  for  there  was  something  in  the  ex 
pression  of  his  eyes,  in  the  steely,  boring 
glances  that  he  cast  about  him,  that  told 
these  men,  inured  to  danger  though  they 
were,  that  the  stray-man  was  in  no  gentle 
mood.  He  dropped  a  short  word  to  the  one 
among  them  that  he  knew  best,  at  which  they 
all  straightened,  for  through  the  word  they 
knew  that  he  was  looking  for  Leviatt. 

But  they  knew  nothing  of  Leviatt  be 
yond  the  fact  that  he  and  Tucson  had  not 
accompanied  the  wagon  to  the  home  ranch. 
They  inferred  that  the  range  boss  and 
Tucson  had  gone  about  some  business  con 
nected  wi*h  the  cattle.  Therefore  Ferguson 
did  not  s^j)p  long  in  the  bunkhouse.  With 
out  a  vovi  he  was  gone,  striding  rapidly  to 
ward  th  ranchhouse.  They  looked  after 
301 

., 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

him,  saying  nothing,  but  aware  that  his  quest 
for  Leviatt  was  not  without  significance. 

Five  minute^  later  he  was  in  Stafford's 
office.  The  latter  had  been  worrying  about 
him.  When  Ferguson  entered  the  man 
ager's  manner  was  a  trifle  anxious. 

"You  seen  anything  of  Radford  yet?"  he 
inquired. 

"I  ain't  got  anything  on  Radford,"  was 
the  short  reply. 

His  tone  angered  the  manager.  "I  ain't 
askin'  if  you've  got  anything  on  him,"  he 
returned.  "But  we  missed  more  cattle 
yesterday,  an'  it  looks  mighty  suspicious. 
Since  we  had  that  talk  about  Radford,  when 
you  told  me  it  wasn't  him  doin'  the  rustlin* 
I've  changed  my  mind  a  heap.  I'm  thinkin' 
he  rustled  them  cattle  last  night." 

Ferguson  looked  quizzically  at  him.  "How 
many  cattle  you  missin'?"  he  questioned. 

Stafford  banged  a  fist  heavily  down  upon 
his  desk  top.  "We're  twenty  calves  short 
on  the  tally,"  he  declared,  "an'  half  a  dozen 
cows.  We  ain't  got  to  the  steers  yet,  but 
I'm  expectin'  to  find  them  short  too." 
302 


THE  PROMISE 


Ferguson  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  num 
ber  of  cattle  missing  tallied  exactly  with  the 
number  he  had  seen  in  the  basin  down  the 
river.  A  glint  of  triumph  lighted  his  eyes, 
but  he  looked  down  upon  Stafford,  drawl 
ing: 

"You  been  doin'  the  tallyin'?" 

"Yes." 

Ferguson  was  now  smiling  grimly. 
"Where's  your  range  boss?"  he  questioned. 

"The  boys  say  he  rode  over  to  the  river 
lookin'  for  strays.  Sent  word  that  he'd  be 
in  to-morrow.  But  I  don't  see  what  he's 
got  to  do- 

"No,"  returned  Ferguson,  "of  course. 
You  say  them  cattle  was  rustled  last  night?'* 

"Yes."  Stafford  banged  his  fist  down 
with  a  positiveness  that  left  no  doubt  of  his 
knowledge. 

"Well,  now,"  observed  Ferguson,  "an'  so 
you're  certain  Radford  rustled  them."  He 
smiled  again  saturninely. 

"I  ain't  sayin'  for  certain,"  returned  Staf 
ford,  puzzled  by  Ferguson's  manner.  "What 
I'm  gettin'  at  is  that  there  ain't  no  one 
303 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

around  here  that'd  rustle  them  except  Rad- 
ford." 

"There  ain't  no  other  nester  around  here 
that  you  know  of?"  questioned  Ferguson. 

"No.    Radford's  the  only  one." 

Ferguson  lingered  a  moment.  Then  he 
talked  slowly  to  the  door.  "I  reckon  that's 
all,"  he  said.  "To-morrow  I'm  gain'  to 
show  you  your  rustler." 

He  had  stepped  out  of  the  door  and  was 
gone  into  the  gathering  dusk  before  Stafford 
could  ask  the  question  that  was  on  the  end 
of  his  tongue. 


804 


CHAPTER  XXII 

KEEPING  A  PROMISE 

FERGUSON'S      dreams     had     been 
troubled.    Long  before  dawn  he  was 
awake  and  outside  the  bunkhouse, 
splashing  water  over  his  face  from  the  tin 
wash  basin  that  stood  on  the  bench  just  out 
side  the  door.     Before  breakfast  he  had 
saddled  and  bridled  Mustard,  and  directly 
after  the  meal  he  was  in  the  saddle,  riding 
slowly  toward  the  river. 

Before  very  long  he  was  riding  through 
Bear  Flat,  and  after  a  time  he  came  to  the 
hill  where  only  two  short  days  before  he  had 
reveled  in  the  supreme  happiness  that  had 
followed  months  of  hope  and  doubt.  It  did 
not  seem  as  though  it  had  been  only  two 
days.  It  seemed  that  time  was  playing  him 
305 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

a  trick.  Yet  he  knew  that  to-day  was  like 
yesterday — each  day  like  its  predecessor — 
that  if  the  hours  dragged  it  was  because  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  soul  he  realized  that  to 
day  could  not  be — for  him — like  the  day 
before  yesterday;  and  that  succeeding  days 
gave  no  promise  of  restoring  to  him  the 
happiness  that  he  had  lost. 

He  saw  the  sun  rising  above  the  rim  of 
hills  that  surrounded  the  flat;  he  climbed  to 
the  rock  upon  which  he  had  sat — with  her — 
watching  the  shadows  retreat  to  the  moun 
tains,  watching  the  sun  stream  down  into  the' 
clearing  and  upon  the  Radford  cabin.  But 
there  was  no  longer  beauty  in  the  picture — 
for  him.  Hereafter  he  would  return  to  that 
life  that  he  had  led  of  old;  the  old  hard  life 
that  he  had  known  before  his  brief  romance 
had  given  him  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  what 
might  have  been. 

Many  times,  when  his  hopes  had  been 
high,  he  had  felt  a  chilling  fear  that  he  would 
never  be  able  to  reach  the  pinnacle  of  prom 
ise;  that  in  the  end  fate  would  place  before 
him  a  barrier — the  barrier  in  the  shape  of 
306 


KEEPING  rA   PROMISE 

his  contract  with  Stafford,  that  he  had  re 
gretted  many  times. 

Mary  Radford  would  never  believe  his 
protest  that  he  had  not  been  hired  to  kill  her 
brother.  Fate,  in  the  shape  of  Leviatt,  had 
forestalled  him  there.  Many  times,  when 
she  had  questioned  him  regarding  the  hero 
in  her  story,  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  tak 
ing  her  into  his  confidence  as  to  the  reason  of 
his  presence  at  the  Two  Diamond,  but  he 
had  always  put  it  off,  hoping  that  things 
would  be  righted  in  the  end  and  that  he 
would  be  able  to  prove  to  her  the  honesty  of 
his  intentions. 

But  now  that  time  was  past.  Whatever 
happened  now  she  would  believe  him  the 
creature  that  she  despised — that  all  men  de 
spised  ;  the  man  who  strikes  in  the  dark. 

This,  then,  was  to  be  the  end.  He  could 
not  say  that  he  had  been  entirely  blameless. 
He  should  have  told  her.  But  it  was  not  the 
end  that  he  was  now  contemplating.  There 
could  be  no  end  until  there  had  been  an  ac 
counting  between  him  and  Leviatt.  Per 
haps  the  men  who  had  shot  Ben  Radford  in 
307 


THE    TJTO-GUX   31  AX 

the  back  would  never  be  known.  He  had  his 
suspicions,  but  they  availed  nothing.  In  the 
light  of  present  circumstances  Miss  Radford 
!  would  never  hold  him  guiltless. 

Until  near  noon  he  sat  on  the  rock  on  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  the  lines  of  his  face  growing 
more  grim,  his  anger  slowly  giving  way  to 
the  satisfying  calmness  that  comes  when  the 
mind  has  reached  a  conclusion.  There  would 
be  a  final  scene  with  Leviatt,  and  then 

He  rose  from  the  rock,  made  his  way  de 
liberately  down  the  hillside,  mounted  his 
pony,  and  struck  the  trail  leading  to  the 
Two  Diamond  ranchhouse. 

About  noon  Leviatt  and  Tucson  rode  in  to 
the  Two  Diamond  corral  gate,  dismounted 
from  their  ponies,  and  proceeded  to  the 
bunkhouse  for  dinner.  The  men  of  the  out 
fit  were  already  at  the  table,  and  after  wash 
ing  their  faces  from  the  tin  wash  basin  on 
the  bench  outside  the  door,  Leviatt  and 
Tucson  entered  the  bunkhouse  and  took 
their  places.  Greetings  were  given  and  re 
turned  through  the  medium  of  short  nods — - 
308 


KEEPIXG   A    PROMISE 

with  several  of  the  men  even  this  was 
omitted.  Leviatt  was  not  a  popular  range 
boss,  and  there  were  some  of  the  men  who 
had  whispered  their  suspicions  that  the  death 
of  Rope  Jones  had  not  been  brought  about 
in  the  regular  way.  Many  of  them  remem 
bered  the  incident  that  had  occurred  between 
Rope,  the  range  boss,  Tucson,  and  the  new 
stray-man,  and  though  opinions  differed, 
there  were  some  who  held  that  the  death  of 
Rope  might  have  resulted  from  the  ill-feel 
ing  engendered  by  the  incident.  But  in  the 
absence  of  proof  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  So  those  men  who  held  suspicions 
wisely  refrained  from  talking  in  public. 

Before  the  meal  was  finished  the  black 
smith  poked  his  head  in  through  the  open 
doorway,  calling:  "OF  Man  wants  to  see 
Leviatt  up  in  the  office!" 

The  blacksmith's  head  was  withdrawn  be 
fore  Leviatt.  who  had  heard  the  voice  but 
had  not  seen  the  speaker,  could  raise  his  voice 
in  reply.  He  did  not  hasten,  however,  and 
remained  at  the  table  with  Tucson  for  five 
minutes  after  the  other  men  had  left.  Then, 
309 

I 

I 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

with  a  final  word  to  Tucson,  he  rose  and 
strode  carelessly  to  the  door  of  Stafford's 
office.  The  latter  had  been  waiting  with 
some  impatience,  and  at  the  appearance  of 
the  range  boss  he  shoved  his  chair  back  from 
his  desk  and  arose. 

"Just  come  in?"  he  questioned. 

"Just  come  in,"  repeated  Leviatt  drawl 
ing.  "Plum  starved.  Had  to  eat  before  I 
came  down  here." 

He  entered  and  dropped  lazily  into  a 
chair  near  the  desk,  stretching  his  legs  com 
fortably.  He  had  observed  in  Stafford's 
manner  certain  signs  of  a  subdued  excite 
ment,  and  while  he  affected  not  to  notice 
this,  there  was  a  glint  of  feline  humor  in  his 
eyes. 

"Somebody  said  you  wanted  me,"  he  said. 
"Anything  doin'?" 

Stafford  had  held  in  as  long  as  he  could. 
Now  he  exploded. 

"What  in  hell  do  you  suppose  I  sent  for 

you  for?"  he  demanded,  as,  walking  to  and 

fro  in  the  room,  he  paused  and  glared  down 

at  the  range  boss.    "Where  you  been?  We're 

310 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

twenty  calves  an'  a  dozen  cows  short  on  the 
tally!" 

Leviatt  looked  up,  his  eyes  suddenly  flash 
ing.  "Whew!"  he  exclaimed.  "They're 
hittin'  them  pretty  heavy  lately.  When  was 
they  missed?" 

Stafford  spluttered  impotently.  "Night 
before  last,"  he  flared.  "An'  not  a  damned 
sign  of  where  they  went!" 

Leviatt  grinned  coldly.  "Them  rustlers 
is  gettin'  to  be  pretty  slick,  ain't  they?"  he 
drawled. 

Stafford's  face  swelled  with  a  rage  that 
threatened  to  bring  on  apoplexy.  He 
brought  a  tense  fist  heavily  down  upon  his 
desk  top. 

"Slick!"  he  sneered.  "I  don't  reckon 
they're  any  slick.  It's  that  I've  got  a  no 
good  outfit.  There  ain't  a  man  in  the  bunch 
could  see  a  rustler  if  he'd  hobbled  a  cow  and 
was  runnin'  her  calf  off  before  their  eyes!" 
He  hesitated  to  gain  breath  before  continu 
ing.  "What  have  I  got  an  outfit  for?  What 
have  I  got  a  range  boss  for?  What  have  I 

got 1" 

811 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

Leviatt  grinned  wickedly  and  Stafford 
hesitated,  his  hand  upraised. 

"Your  stray-man  doin'  anything  these 
days?"  questioned  Leviatt  significantly. 
"Because  if  he  is,"  resumed  Leviatt,  before 
the  manager  could  reply,  "he  ought  to  man 
age  to  be  around  where  them  thieves  are 
workin'." 

Stafford  stiffened.  He  had  developed  a 
liking  for  the  stray-man  and  he  caught  a 
note  of  venom  in  Leviatt's  voice. 

"I  reckon  the  stray-man  knows  what  he's 
doin',"  he  replied.  He  returned  to  his 
chair  beside  the  desk  and  sat  in  it,  facing 
Leviatt,  and  speaking  with  heavy  sarcasm. 
"The  stray-man's  the  only  one  of  the  whole 
bunch  that's  doin'  anything,"  he  said. 

"Sure,"  sneered  Leviatt ;  "he's  gettin'  paid 
for  sparkin'  Mary  Radford." 

"Mebbe  he  is,"  returned  Stafford.  "I 
don't  know  as  I'd  blame  him  any  for  that. 
But  he's  been  doin'  somethin'  else  now  an* 
then,  too." 

"Findin'  the  man  that's  been  rustlin'  your 
stock,  for  instance,"  mocked  Leviatt. 
312 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 


Stafford  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  frown 
ing. 

"Look  here,  Leviatt,"  he  said  steadily. 
"I  might  have  spoke  a  little  strong  to  you 
about  them  missin'  cattle.  But  I  reckon 
you're  partly  to  blame.  If  you'd  been 
minded  to  help  Ferguson  a  little,  instead  of 
actin'  like  a  fool  because  you've  thought 
Jhe's  took  a  shine  to  Mary  Radford, 
we  might  have  been  further  along  with  them 
rustlers.  As  it  is,  Ferguson's  been  playin'  a 
lone  hand.  But  he  claims  to  have  been  doin* 
somethin'.  He  ain't  been  in  the  habit  of 
blowin'  his  own  horn,  an'  I  reckon  we  can 
rely  on  what  he  says.  I'm  want  in'  you  to 
keep  the  boys  together  this  afternoon,  for 
we  might  need  them  to  help  Ferguson  out. 
lie's  promised  to  ride  in  to-day  an'  show  me 
the  man  who's  been  rustlin'  my  cattle." 

Leviatt's  lips  slowly  straightened.  He 
sat  more  erect,  and  when  he  spoke  the 
mockery  had  entirely  gone  from  his  voice 
and  from  his  manner. 

"He's  goin'  to  do  what?"  he  questioned 
coldly. 

313 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

"Show  me  the  man  who's  been  rustlin'  my 
cattle,"  repeated  Stafford. 

For  a  brief  space  neither  man  spoke — nor 
moved.  Stafford's  face  wore  the  smile  of  a 
man  who  has  just  communicated  some  un 
expected  and  astonishing  news  and  was 
watching  its  effect  with  suppressed  enjoy 
ment.  He  knew  that  Leviatt  felt  bitter  to 
ward  the  stray-man  and  that  the  news  that 
the  latter  might  succeed  in  doing  the  thing 
that  he  had  set  out  to  do  would  not  be  re 
ceived  with  any  degree  of  pleasure  by  the 
range  boss. 

But  watching  closely,  Stafford  was  forced 
to  admit  that  Leviatt  did  not  feel  so  strong 
ly,  or  was  cleverly  repressing  his  emotions. 
There  was  no  sign  on  the  range  boss's  face 
that  he  had  been  hurt  by  the  news.  His  face 
had  grown  slightly  paler  and  there  was  a 
hard  glitter  in  his  narrowed  eyes.  But  his 
voice  was  steady. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said,  "that  ought  to  tickle 
you  a  heap." 

"I  won't  be  none  disappointed,"  returned 
Stafford. 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

Leviatt  looked  sharply  at  him  and  crossed 
his  arms  over  his  chest. 

"When  was  you  talkin'  to  him?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"Yesterday." 

Leviatt's  lips  moved  slightly.  "An'  when 
did  you  say  them  cattle  was  rustled?"  he 
asked. 

"Night  before  last,"  returned  Stafford. 

Leviatt  was  silent  for  a  brief  time.  Then 
he  unfolded  his  arms  and  stood  erect,  his 
eyes  boring  into  Stafford's. 

"When  you  expectin'  Ferguson?"  he 
questioned. 

"He  didn't  say  just  when  he  was  comin" 
in,"  returned  Stafford.  "But  I  reckon  we 
might  expect  him  any  time." 

Leviatt  strode  to  the  door.  Looking  back 
over  his  shoulder,  he  smiled  evilly.  "I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  tellin'  me,"  he  said. 
"We'll  be  ready  for  him." 

A  little  over  an  hour  after  his  departure 
from  the  hill,  Ferguson  rode  up  to  the  Two 
Diamond    corral    gate    and    dismounted. 
315 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

Grouped  around  the  door  of  the  bunkhouse 
were  several  of  the  Two  Diamond  men;  in 
a  strip  of  shade  from  the  blacksmith  shop 
were  others.  Jocular  words  were  hurled  at 
him  by  some  of  the  men  as  he  drew  the 
saddle  from  Mustard,  for  the  stray-man's 
quietness  and  invariable  thoughtfulness  had 
won  him  a  place  in  the  affections  of  many  of 
the  men,  and  their  jocular  greetings  were 
evidence  of  this. 

He  nodded  shortly  to  them,  but  did  not 
answer.  And  instead  of  lugging  his  saddle 
to  its  accustomed  peg  in  the  lean-to,  he 
threw  it  over  the  corral  fence  and  left  it. 
Then,  without  another  look  toward  the  men, 
he  turned  and  strode  toward  the  manager's 
office. 

The  latter  was  seated  at  his  desk  and 
looked  up  at  the  stray-man's  entrance.  He 
opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  closed  them 
again,  surprised  at  the  stray-man's  appear 
ance. 

During  the  months  that  Ferguson  had 
worked  at  the  Two  Diamond,  Stafford  had 
not  seen  him  as  he  looked  at  this  moment, 
316 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

Never,  during  the  many  times  the  manager 
had  seen  him,  had  he  been  able  to  guess  any 
thing  of  the  stray-man's  emotions  by  looking 
at  his  face.  Now,  however,  there  had  come  a 
change.  In  the  set,  tightly  drawn  lips  were 
the  tell-tale  signs  of  an  utterable  resolve.  In 
the  narrowed,  steady  eyes  was  a  light  that 
chilled  Stafford  like  a  cold  breeze  in  the 
heat  of  a  summer's  day.  In  the  man's  whole 
body  was  something  that  shocked  the  man 
ager  into  silence. 

He  came  into  the  room,  standing  near  the 
door,  his  set  lips  moving  a  very  little.  "You 
heard  anything  from  Leviatt  yet?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"Why,  yes,"  returned  Stafford,  hesitat 
ingly;  "he  was  here,  talkin'  to  me.  Ain't 
been  gone  more'n  half  an  hour.  I  reckon 
he's  somewhere  around  now." 

"You  talkin'  to  him,  you  say?"  said  the 
stray-man  slowly.  He  smiled  mirthlessly. 
"I  reckon  you  told  him  about  them  missin' 
calves?" 

"I  sure  did!"  returned  Stafford  with  mucK 
vehemence.  He  laughed  harshly.  "I  told  him 
317 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

more,"  he  said;  "I  told  him  you  was  goin' 
to  show  me  the  man  who'd  rustled  them." 

Ferguson's  lips  wreathed  into  a  grim 
smile.  "So  you  told  him?"  he  said.  "I  was 
expectin'  you'd  do  that,  if  he  got  in  before 
me.  That's  why  I  stopped  in  here.  That 
was  somethin*  which  I  was  wantin'  him  to 
know.  I  don't  want  it  to  be  said  that  I 
didn't  give  him  a  chance." 

Stafford  rose  from  his  chair,  taking  a  step 
toward  the  stray-man. 

"Why,  what ?"  he  began.  But  a  look 

at  the  stray-man's  face  silenced  him. 

"I've  come  over  here  to-day  to  show  you 
that  rustler  I  told  you  about  yesterday.  I'm 
goin'  to  look  for  him  now.  If  he  ain't  sloped 
I  reckon  you'll  see  him  pretty  soon." 

Leviatt  stepped  down  from  the  door  of 
the  manager's  office  and  strode  slowly  to 
ward  the  bunkhouse.  On  the  way  he  passed 
several  of  the  men,  but  he  paid  no  attention 
to  them,  his  face  wearing  an  evil  expression, 
his  eyes  glittering  venomously. 

LWhen  he  reached  the  bunkhouse  he  passed 
318 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

several  more  of  the  men  without  a  word,  go 
ing  directly  to  a  corner  of  the  room  where 
sat  Tucson  and  conversing  earnestly  with 
his  friend.  A  little  later  both  he  and  Tucson 
rose  and  passed  out  of  the  bunkhouse,  walk 
ing  toward  the  blacksmith  shop. 

After  a  little  they  appeared,  again  join 
ing  the  group  outside  the  bunkhouse.  It 
was  while  Leviatt  and  Tucson  were  in  the 
blacksmith  shop  that  Ferguson  had  come  in. 
When  they  came  out  again  the  stray-man 
had  disappeared  into  the  manager's  office. 

Since  the  day  when  in  the  manager's 
office,  Ferguson  had  walked  across  the  floor 
to  return  to  Leviatt  the  leather  tobacco 
pouch  that  the  latter  had  dropped  in  the  de 
pression  on  the  ridge  above  the  gully  where 
the  stray-man  had  discovered  the  dead  Two 
Diamond  cow  and  her  calf,  Leviatt  had 
known  that  the  stray-man  suspected  him  of 
being  leagued  with  the  rustlers.  But  this 
knowledge  had  not  disturbed  him.  He  felt 
secure  because  of  his  position.  Even  the 
stray-man  would  have  to  have  absolute, 
damning  evidence  before  he  could  hope  to 
319 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

be  successful  in  proving  a  range  boss  guilty 
of  cattle  stealing. 

Leviatt  had  been  more  concerned  over  the 
stray-man's  apparent  success  in  courting 
Mary  Radford.  His  hatred — beginning 
with  the  shooting  match  in  Dry  Bottom — 
had  been  intensified  by  the  discovery  of  Fer 
guson  on  the  Radford  porch  in  Bear  Flat; 
by  the  incident  at  the  bunkhouse,  when  Rope 
Jones  had  prevented  Tucson  from  shooting 
the  stray-man  from  behind,  and  by  the  dis 
covery  that  the  latter  suspected  him  of  com 
plicity  with  the  cattle  thieves.  But  it  had 
reached  its  highest  point  when  Mary  Rad 
ford  spurned  his  love.  After  that  he  had 
realized  that  just  so  long  as  the  stray-man 
lived  and  remained  at  the  Two  Diamond 
there  would  be  no  peace  or  security  for  him 
there. 

Yet  he  had  no  thought  of  settling  his  dif 
ferences  with  Ferguson  as  man  to  man. 
Twice  had  he  been  given  startling  proof  of 
the  stray-man's  quickness  with  the  six- 
shooter,  and  each  time  his  own  slowness  had 
been  crushingly  impressed  on  his  mind.  He 
320 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

was  not  fool  enough  to  think  that  he  could 
beat  the  stray-man  at  that  game. 

But  there  were  other  ways.  Rope  Jones 
had  discovered  that — when  it  had  been  too 
late  to  profit.  Rope  had  ridden  into  a  care 
fully  laid  trap  and,  in  spite  of  his  reputation 
for  quickness  in  drawing  his  weapon,  had 
found  that  the  old  game  of  getting  a  man 
between  two  fires  had  proven  efficacious. 

And  now  Leviatt  and  Tucson  were  to  at 
tempt  the  scheme  again.  Since  his  inter 
view  with  Stafford,  Leviatt  had  become  con 
vinced  that  the  time  for  action  had  come. 
Ferguson  had  left  word  with  the  manager 
that  he  was  to  show  the  latter  the  rustler, 
and  by  that  token  Leviatt  knew  that  the 
stray-man  had  gathered  evidence  against 
him  and  was  prepared  to  show  him  to  the 
manager  in  his  true  light.  He,  in  turn,  had 
left  a  message  with  the  manager  for  Fer 
guson.  "We'll  be  ready  for  him,"  he  had 
said. 

He  did  not  know  whether  Ferguson  had 
received  this  message.  It  had  been  a  subtle 
thought ;  the  words  had  been  merely  involun- 
321 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

tary.  By  "We"  the  manager  had  thought 
that  he  had  meant  the  entire  outfit  was  to  be 
held  ready  to  apprehend  the  rustler.  Leviatt 
had  meant  only  himself  and  Tucson. 

And  they  were  ready.  Down  in  the  black 
smith  shop,  while  Ferguson  had  ridden  in 
and  stepped  into  the  manager's  office,  had 
Leviatt  and  Tucson  made  their  plan.  When 
they  had  joined  the  group  in  front  of  the 
bunkhouse  and  had  placed  themselves  in 
positions  where  thirty  or  forty  feet  of  space 
yawned  between  them,  they  had  been  mak 
ing  the  first  preparatory  movement.  The 
next  would  come  when  Ferguson  appeared, 
to  carry  out  his  intention  of  showing  Staf 
ford  the  rustler. 

To  none  of  the  men  of  the  outfit  did 
Leviatt  or  Tucson  reveal  anything  of  the 
nervousness  that  affected  them.  They 
listened  to  the  rough  jest,  they  laughed  when 
the  others  laughed,  they  dropped  an  occa 
sional  word  of  encouragement.  They  even 
laughed  at  jokes  in  which  there  was  no 
yisible  point. 

But  they  did  not  move  from  their  places, 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

nor  did  they  neglect  to  keep  a  sharp,  alert 
eye  out  for  the  stray-man's  appearance. 
And  when  they  saw  him  come  out  of  the 
door  of  the  office  they  neglected  to  joke  or 
laugh,  but  stood  silent,  with  the  thirty  or 
forty  feet  of  space  between  them,  their  faces 
paling  a  little,  their  hearts  laboring  a  little 
harder. 

When  Ferguson  stepped  out  of  the  door 
of  the  office,  Stafford  followed.  The  stray- 
man  had  said  enough  to  arouse  the  man 
ager's  suspicions,  and  there  was  something 
about  the  stray-man's  movements  which 
gave  the  impression  that  he  contemplated 
something  more  than  merely  pointing  out 
the  thief.  If  warning  of  impending  tragedy 
had  ever  shone  in  a  man's  eyes,  Stafford  was 
certain  that  it  had  shone  in  the  stray-man's 
during  the  brief  time  that  he  had  been  in  the 
office  and  when  he  had  stepped  down  from 
the  door. 

Stafford  had  received  no  invitation  to  fol 
low  the  stray-man,  but  impelled  by  the 
threat  in  the  latter's  eyes  and  by  the  hint  of 
cold  resolution  that  gave  promise  of  immi- 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

nent  tragedy,  he  stepped  down  also,  trailing 
the  stray-man  at  a  distance  of  twenty  yards. 

Ferguson  did  not  hesitate  once  in  his 
progress  toward  the  bunkhouse,  except  to 
cast  a  rapid,  searching  glance  toward  a 
group  of  two  or  three  men  who  lounged  in 
the  shade  of  the  eaves  of  the  building.  Pass 
ing  the  blacksmith  shop  he  continued  toward 
the  bunkhouse,  walking  with  a  steady  stride, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  or  left. 

Other  men  in  the  group,  besides  Leviatt 
and  Tucson,  had  seen  the  stray-man  com 
ing,  and  as  he  came  nearer,  the  talk  died 
and  a  sudden  silence  fell.  Ferguson  came 
to  a  point  within  ten  feet  of  the  group  of 
men,  who  were  ranged  along  the  wall  of  the 
bunkhouse.  Stafford  had  come  up  rapidly, 
and  he  now  stood  near  a  corner  of  the  bunk- 
house  in  an  attitude  of  intense  attention. 

He  was  in  a  position  where  he  could  see 
the  stray-man's  face,  and  he  marveled  at  the 
sudden  change  that  had  come  into  it.  The 
tragedy  had  gone,  and  though  the  hard  lines 
were  still  around  his  mouth,  the  corners 
twitched  a  little,  as  though  moved  by  a  cold, 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

feline  humor.  There  was  a  hint  of  mockery 
in  his  eyes — a  chilling  mockery,  much  like 
that  which  the  manager  had  seen  in  them 
months  before  when  in  Dry  Bottom  the 
stray-man  had  told  Leviatt  that  he  thought 
he  was  a  "plum  man." 

But  now  Stafford  stood  breathless  as  he 
heard  the  stray-man's  voice,  directed  at 
Leviatt.  "I  reckon  you  think  you've  been 
some  busy  lately,"  he  drawled. 

Meaningless  words,  as  they  appear  here; 
meaningless  to  the  group  of  men  and  to  the 
Two  Diamond  manager;  yet  to  Leviatt 
they  were  burdened  with  a  dire  significance. 
They  told  him  that  the  stray-man  was  aware 
of  his  duplicity ;  they  meant  perhaps  that  the 
stray-man  knew  of  his  dealings  with  the 
cattle  thieves  whom  he  had  visited  yesterday 
in  the  hills  near  the  river.  Whatever  Leviatt 
thought,  there  was  significance  enough  in  the 
words  to  bring  a  sneering  smile  to  his  face. 

"Meanin'?"  he  questioned,  his  eyes  glit 
tering  evilly. 

Ferguson  smiled,  his  eyes  unwavering  and 
narrowing  a  very  little  as  they  met  those  of 
325 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

his  questioner.  Deliberately,  as  though  the 
occasion  were  one  of  unquestioned  peace, 
he  drew  out  some  tobacco  and  several  strips 
of  rice  paper.  Selecting  one  of  the  strips  of 
paper,  he  returned  the  others  to  a  pocket 
and  proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette.  His 
movements  were  very  deliberate.  Stafford 
watched  him,  fascinated  by  his  coolness.  In 
the  tense  silence  no  sound  was  heard  except 
a  subdued  rattle  of  pans  in  the  bunkhouse 
— telling  that  the  cook  and  his  assistant  were 
at  work. 

The  cigarette  was  made  finally,  and  then 
the  stray-man  lighted  it  and  looked  again  at 
Leviatt,  ignoring  his  question,  asking  an 
other  himself.  "You  workin'  down  the  creek 
yesterday?"  he  said. 

"Up!"  snapped  Leviatt.  The  question 
had  caught  him  off  his  guard  or  he  would 
have  evaded  it.  He  had  told  the  lie  out  of 
pure  perverseness. 

Ferguson  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigarette. 

"Well,  now,"  he  returned,  "that's  mighty 

peculiar.     I'd  have  swore  that  I  seen  you 

an'  Tucson  ridin'  down  the  river  yesterday. 

326 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

Thought  I  saw  you  in  a  basin  in  the  hills, 
talkin'  to  some  men  that  I'd  never  seen  be 
fore.  I  reckon  I  was  mistaken,  but  I'd  have 
swore  that  I'd  seen  you." 

Leviatt's  face  was  colorless.  Standing 
with  his  profile  to  Tucson,  he  closed  one  eye 
furtively.  This  had  been  a  signal  that  had 
previously  been  agreed  upon.  Tucson 
caught  it  and  turned  slightly,  letting  one 
hand  fall  to  his  right  hip,  immediately  above 
the  butt  of  his  pistol. 

"Hell!"  sneered  Leviatt,  "you're  seein'  a 
heap  of  things  since  you've  been  runnin'  with 
Mary  Radford!" 

Ferguson  laughed  mockingly.  "Mebbe 
I  have,"  he  returned.  "Ridin'  with  her  sure 
makes  a  man  open  his  eyes  considerable." 

Now  he  ignored  Leviatt,  speaking  to  Staf 
ford.  "When  I  was  in  here  one  day,  talkin'  to 
you,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  told  me  about 
you  an'  Leviatt  goin'  to  Dry  Bottom  to  hire 
a  gunfighter.  I  reckon  you  told  that  right?" 

"I  sure  did,"  returned  Stafford. 

Ferguson  took  another  pull  at  his 
cigarette — blowing  the  smoke  slowly  sky- 
327 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

ward.  And  he  drawled  again,  so  that  there 
was  a  distinct  space  between  the  words. 

"I  reckon  you  didn't  go  around  advertisin' 
that?"  he  asked. 

Stafford  shook  his  head  negatively. 
"There  ain't  anyone  around  here  knowed 
anything  about  that  but  me  an'  you  an' 
Leviatt,"  he  returned. 

Ferguson  grinned  coldly.  "An'  yet  it's 
got  out,"  he  stated  quietly.  "I  reckon  if  no 
one  but  us  three  knowed  about  it,  one  of  us 
has  been  gassin'.  I  wouldn't  think  that 
you'd  done  any  gassin',"  he  added,  speaking 
to  Stafford. 

The  latter  slowly  shook  his  head. 

Ferguson  continued,  his  eyes  cold  and 
alert.  "An'  I  reckon  that  I  ain't  shot  off 
about  it — unless  I've  been  dreamin'.  Ac- 
cordin'  to  that  it  must  have  been  Leviatt 
who  told  Mary  Radford  that  I'd  been  hired 
to  kill  her  brother." 

Leviatt  sneered.  "Suppose  I  did?"  he 
returned,  showing  his  teeth  in  a  savage  snarl. 
"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  about  it?" 

"Nothin'  now,"  drawled  Ferguson.    "I'm 


KEEPING  A   PROMISE 

glad  to  hear  that  you  ain't  denyin'  it."  He 
spoke  to  Stafford,  without  removing  his  gaze 
from  the  range  boss. 

"Yesterday,"  he  stated  calmly,  "I  was 
ridin'  down  the  river.  I  found  a  basin 
among  the  hills.  There  was  a  cabin  down 
there.  Four  men  was  talkin'  in  front  of  it. 
There  was  twenty  calves  an'  a  dozen  cows 
in  a  corral.  Two  of  the  men  was " 

Leviatt's  right  hand  dropped  suddenly  to 
his  holster.  His  pistol  was  half  out.  Tuc 
son's  hand  was  also  wrapped  around  the  butt 
of  his  pistol.  But  before  the  muzzle  of  either 
man's  gun  had  cleared  its  holster,  there  was 
a  slight  movement  at  the  stray-man's  sides 
and  his  two  guns  glinted  in  the  white  sun 
light.  There  followed  two  reports,  so  rapid 
ly  that  they  blended.  Smoke  curled  from  the 
muzzles  of  the  stray-man's  pistols. 

Tucson  sighed,  placed  both  hands  to  his 
chest,  and  pitched  forward  headlong, 
stretching  his  length  in  the  sand.  For  an  in- 
stand  Leviatt  stood  rigid,  his  left  arm  swing 
ing  helplessly  by  his  side,  broken  by  the 
stray-man's  bullet,  an  expression  of  surprise 
329 


THE    TWO-GUN  'MAN 

and  fear  in  his  eyes.  Then  with  a  sudden, 
savage  motion  he  dragged  again  at  his  gun. 

One  of  the  stray-man's  guns  crashed 
again,  sharply.  Leviatt's  weapon  went  off, 
its  bullet  throwing  up  sand  in  front  of  Fer 
guson.  Leviatt's  eyes  closed,  his  knees 
doubled  under  him,  and  he  pitched  forward 
at  Ferguson's  feet.  He  was  face  down,  his 
right  arm  outstretched,  the  pistol  still  in  his 
hand.  A  thin,  blue  wreath  of  smoke  rose 
lazily  from  its  muzzle. 

Ferguson  bent  over  him,  his  weapons  still 
in  his  hands.  Leviatt's  legs  stretched  slow 
ly  and  then  stiffened.  In  the  strained  silence 
that  had  followed  the  shooting  Ferguson 
stood,  looking  gloomily  down  upon  the  quiet 
form  of  his  fallen  adversary. 

"I  reckon  you  won't  lie  no  more  about 
me,"  he  said  dully. 

Without  a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
group  of  silent  men,  he  sheathed  his 
weapons  and  strode  toward  the  ranchhouse. 


330 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

FERGUSON    strode    into   the   man 
ager's  office  and  dropped  heavily  in 
to  a  chair  beside  the  desk.    He  was 
directly  in  front  of  the  open  door  and  look 
ing  up  he  could  see  the  men  down  at  the 
bunkhouse  congregated  around  the  bodies  of 
Leviatt  and  Tucson. 

The  end  that  he  had  been  expecting  for 
the  past  two  days  had  come — had  come  as 
he  knew  it  must  come.  He  had  not  been 
trapped  as  they  had  trapped  Rope  Jones. 
When  he  had  stood  before  Leviatt  in  front 
of  the  bunkhouse,  he  had  noted  the  positions 
of  the  two  men;  had  seen  that  they  had  ex 
pected  him  to  walk  squarely  into  the  net  that 
they  had  prepared  for  him.  His  lips  curled 
331 


THE    TWO-GUN  MAN 

a  little  even  now  over  the  thought  that  the 
two  men  had  held  him  so  cheaply.  Well, 
they  had  learned  differently,  when  too  late. 
It  was  the  end  of  things  for  them,  and  for 
him  the  end  of  his  hopes.  When  he  had 
drawn  his  guns  he  had  thought  of  merely 
wounding  Leviatt,  intending  to  allow  the 
men  of  the  outfit  to  apply  to  him  the  penalty 
that  all  convicted  cattle  thieves  must  suffer. 
But  before  that  he  had  hoped  to  induce 
Leviatt  to  throw  some  light  upon  the  at 
tempted  murder  of  Ben  Radford. 

However,  Leviatt  had  spoiled  all  that 
when  he  had  attempted  to  draw  his  weapon 
after  he  was  wounded.  He  had  given  Fer 
guson  no  alternative.  He  had  been  forced 
to  kill  the  only  man  who,  he  was  convinced, 
could  have  given  him  any  information  about 
the  shooting  of  Radford,  and  now,  in  spite 
of  anything  that  he  might  say  to  the  con 
trary,  Mary  Radford,  and  even  Ben  himself, 
would  always  believe  him  guilty.  He  could 
not  stay  at  Two  Diamond  now.  He  must 
get  out  of  the  country,  back  to  the  old  life 
at  the  Lazy  J,  where  among  his  friends  he 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

might  finally  forget.  But  he  doubted  much. 
Did  men  ever  forget  women  they  had  loved  l^ 
Some  perhaps  did,  but  he  was  certain  that 
nothing — not  even  time — could  dim  the  pic 
ture  that  was  now  in  his  mind:  the  hill  in 
the  flat,  the  girl  sitting  upon  the  rock  beside 
him,  her  eyes  illuminated  with  a  soft,  tender 
light;  her  breeze-blown  hair — which  he  had 
kissed;  which  the  Sun-Gods  had  kissed  as, 
coming  down  from  the  mountains,  they  had 
bathed  the  hill  with  the  golden  light  of  the 
evening.  He  had  thought  then  that  nothing 
could  prevent  him  from  enjoying  the  happi 
ness  which  that  afternoon  seemed  to  have 
promised.  He  had  watched  the  sun  sinking 
behind  the  mountains,  secure  in  the  thought 
that  the  morrow  would  bring  him  added 
happiness.  But  now  there  could  be  no  to 
morrow — for  him. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Stafford  entered  the 
office  to  find  his  stray-man  still  seated  in  the 
chair,  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands.  He  did 
not  look  up  as  the  manager  entered,  and  the 
latter  stepped  over  to  him  and  laid  a  friend 
ly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
333 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

"I'm  thankin'  you  for  what  you've  done 
for  me,"  he  said. 

Ferguson  rose,  leaning  one  hand  on  the 
back  of  the  chair  upon  which  he  had  been 
sitting.  The  manager  saw  that  deep  lines 
had  come  into  his  face ;  that  his  eyes — always 
steady  before — were  restless  and  gleaming 
with  an  expression  which  seemed  unfathom 
able.  But  he  said  nothing  until  the  manager 
had  seated  himself  beside  the  desk.  Then 
he  took  a  step  and  stood  looking  into  Staf 
ford's  upturned  face. 

"I  reckon  I've  done  what  I  came  here  to 
do,"  he  said  grimly.  "I'm  takin'  my  time 


now." 


Stafford's  face  showed  a  sudden  disap 
pointment. 

"Shucks!"  he  returned,  unable  to  keep  the 
regret  from  his  voice.  "Ain't  things  suited 
you  here?" 

The  stray-man  grinned  with  straight  lips. 
He  could  not  let  the  manager  know  his 
secret.  "Things  have  suited  me  mighty 
well,"  he  declared.  "I'm  thankin'  you  for 
havin'  made  things  pleasant  for  me  while 
334 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

I've  been  here.  But  I've  done  what  I  con 
tracted  to  do  an'  there  ain't  anything  more 
to  keep  me  here.  If  you'll  give  me  my  time 
I'll  be  goin'." 

Stafford  looked  up  at  him  with  a  sly, 
significant  smile.  "Why,"  he  said,  "Leviatt 
told  me  that  you'd  found  somethin'  real 
interestin'  over  on  Bear  Flat.  Now,  I 
shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to  run  away 
from  her!" 

The  stray-man's  lips  whitened  a  little.  "I 
don't  think  Mary  Radf ord  is  worryin'  about 
me,"  he  said  steadily. 

"Well,  now,"  returned  Stafford,  serious 
again;  "then  I  reckon  Leviatt  had  it  wrong." 

"I  expect  he  had  it  wrong,"  answered  the 
stray-man  shortly. 

But  Stafford  did  not  yield.  He  had  de 
termined  to  keep  the  stray-man  at  the  Two 
Diamond  and  there  were  other  arguments 
that  he  had  not  yet  advanced  which  might 
cause  him  to  stay.  He  looked  up  again,  his 
face  wearing  a  thoughtful  expression. 

"I  reckon  you  remember  our  contract?" 
he  questioned. 

335 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

The  stray-man  nodded.  "I  was  to  find 
out  who  was  stealin'  your  cattle,"  he  said. 

Stafford  smiled  slightly.  "Correct!"  he 
returned.  "You've  showed  me  two  thieves. 
But  a  while  ago  I  heard  you  say  that  there 
was  two  more.  Our  contract  ain't  fulfilled 
until  you  show  me  them  too.  You  reckon?" 

The  stray-man  drew  a  deep,  resigned 
breath.  "I  expect  that's  right,"  he  admitted. 
"But  I've  told  you  where  you  can  find  them. 
All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  ride  over  there  an' 
catch  them." 

Stafford's  smile  widened  a  little.  "Sure," 
he  returned,  "that's  all  I've  got  to  do.  An' 
I'm  goin'  to  do  it.  But  I'm  wantin'  my 
range  boss  to  take  charge  of  the  outfit  that's 
goin'  over  to  ketch  them." 

"Your  range  boss?"  said  Ferguson,  a 
flash  of  interest  in  his  eyes,  "Why,  your 
range  boss  ain't  here  any  more." 

Stafford  leaned  forward,  speaking  seri 
ously.  "I'm  talkin'  to  my  range  boss  right 
now!"  he  said  significantly. 

Ferguson  started,  and  a  tinge  of  slow 
color  came  into  his  face.  He  drew  a  deep 
336 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

breath  and  took  a  step  forward.  But  sud 
denly  he  halted,  his  lips  straightening  again. 

"I'm  thankin'  you,"  he  said  slowly.  "But 
I'm  leavin'  the  Two  Diamond."  He  drew 
himself  up,  looking  on  the  instant  more  his 
old  indomitable  self.  "I'm  carryin'  out  our 
contract  though,"  he  added.  "If  you're 
wantin'  me  to  go  after  them  other  two  men, 
I  ain't  backin'  out.  But  you're  takin'  charge 
of  the  outfit.  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  your  range 
boss." 

An  hour  later  ten  of  the  Two  Diamond 
men,  accompanied  by  Stafford  and  the  stray- 
man,  loped  their  horses  out  on  the  plains  to 
ward  the  river.  It  was  a  grim  company  on 
a  grim  mission,  and  the  men  forbore  to  joke 
as  they  rode  through  the  dust  and  sunshine 
of  the  afternoon.  Ferguson  rode  slightly  in 
advance,  silent,  rigid  in  the  saddle,  not  even 
speaking  to  Stafford,  who  rode  near  him. 

Half  an  hour  after  leaving  the  Two  Dia 
mond  they  rode  along  the  crest  of  a  ridge 
of  hills  above  Bear  Flat.  They  had  been 
riding  here  only  a  few  minutes  when  Staf 
ford,  who  had  been  watching  the  stray-man, 
337 


THE   TWO-GUN   MAN 

saw  him  start  suddenly.  The  manager 
turned  and  followed  the  stray-man's  gaze. 

Standing  on  a  porch  in  front  of  a  cabin  on 
the  other  side  of  the  flat  was  a  woman.  She 
was  watching  them,  her  hands  shading  her 
eyes.  Stafford  saw  the  stray-man  suddenly 
dig  his  spurs  into  his  pony's  flanks,  saw  a 
queer  pallor  come  over  his  face.  Five  min 
utes  later  they  had  ridden  down  through  a 
gully  to  the  plains.  Thereafter,  even  the 
hard  riding  Two  Diamond  boys  found  it 
difficult  to  keep  near  the  stray-man. 

Something  over  two  hours  later  the  Two 
Diamond  outfit,  headed  by  the  stray-man, 
clattered  down  into  a  little  basin,  where  Fer 
guson  had  seen  the  cabin  two  days  before. 
As  the  Two  Diamond  men  came  to  within  a 
hundred  feet  of  the  cabin  two  men,  who  had 
been  at  work  in  a  small  corral,  suddenly 
dropped  their  branding  irons  and  bolted  to 
ward  the  cabin.  But  before  they  had  time 
to  reach  the  door  the  Two  Diamond  men  had 
surrounded  them,  sitting  grimly  and  silent 
ly  in  their  saddles.  Several  of  Stafford's 
men  had  drawn  their  weapons,  but  were  now: 
338 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

returning  them  to  their  holsters,  for  neither 
of  the  two  men  was  armed.  They  stood  with 
in  the  grim  circle,  embarrassed,  their  heads1 
bowed,  their  attitude  revealing  their  shame 
at  having  been  caught  so  easily.  One  of  the 
men,  a  clear,  steady-eyed  fellow,  laughed 
frankly. 

"Well,  we're  plum  easy,  ain't  we  boys?" 
he  said,  looking  around  at  the  silent  group. 
"Corraled  us  without  lettin'  off  a  gun.  That's 
what  I'd  call  re-diculous.  You're  right  wel 
come.  But  mebbe  you  wouldn't  have  had 
things  so  easy  if  we  hadn't  left  our  guns  in 
the  cabin.  Eh,  Bill?"  he  questioned,  prod 
ding  the  other  man  playfully  in  the  ribs. 

But  the  other  man  did  not  laugh.  He 
stood  before  them,  his  embarrassment  gone, 
his  eyes  shifting  and  fearful. 

"Shut  up,  you  damn  fool!"  he  snarled. 

But  the  clear-eyed  man  gave  no  attention 
to  this  outburst.  "You're  TWTO  Diamond 
men,  ain't  you?"  he  asked,  looking  full  at 
Ferguson. 

The  latter  nodded,  and  the  clear-eyed  man 
continued.    "Knowed  you  right  off,"  he  de- 
339 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

clared,  with  a  laugh.  "Leviatt  pointed  you 
out  to  me  one  day  when  you  was  ridin'  out 
yonder."  He  jerked  a  thumb  toward  the 
distance.  "Leviatt  told  me  about  you. 
Wanted  to  try  an'  plug  you  with  his  six,  but 
decided  you  was  too  far  away."  He  laughed 
self -accusingly.  "If  you'd  been  half  an  hour 
later,  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  have  proved 
your  stock,  but  we  loafed  a  heap,  an'  half  of 
that  bunch  ain't  got  our  brand." 

"We  didn't  need  to  look  at  no  brand,"  de 
clared  Stafford  grimly. 

The  clear-eyed  man  started  a  little.  Then 
he  laughed.  "Then  you  must  have  got 
Leviatt  an'  Tucson,"  he  said.  He  turned  to 
Ferguson.  "If  Leviatt  has  been  got,"  he 
said,  "it  must  have  been  you  that  got  him. 
He  told  me  he  was  runnin'  in  with  you  some 
day.  I  kept  tellin'  him  to  be  careful." 

Ferguson's  eyelashes  twitched  a  little. 
"Thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  he  said. 

"Aw,  hell!"  declared  the  man,  sneering. 
"I  wasn't  mushin'  none!" 

Stafford  had  made  a  sign  to  the  men  and 
some  of  them  dismounted  and  approached 
340 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

the  two  rustlers.  The  man  who  had  pro 
fanely  admonished  the  other  to  silence  made 
some  little  resistance,  but  in  the  end  he  stood 
within  the  circle,  his  hands  tied  behind  him. 
The  clear-eyed  man  made  no  resistance, 
seeming  to  regard  the  affair  in  the  light  of  a 
huge  joke.  Once,  while  the  Two  Diamond 
men  worked  at  his  hands,  he  told  them  to  be 
careful  not  to  hurt  him. 

"I'm  goin'  to  be  hurt  enough,  after  a 
while,"  he  added. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  The 
proof  of  guilt  was  before  the  Two  Diamond 
men,  in  the  shape  of  several  calves  in  the 
small  corral  that  still  bore  the  Two  Diamond 
brand.  Several  of  the  cows  were  still 
adorned  with  the  Two  Diamond  ear  mark, 
and  in  addition  to  this  was  Ferguson's  evi 
dence.  Therefore  the  men's  ponies  were 
caught  up,  saddled,  and  the  two  men  foiced 
to  mount.  Then  the  entire  company  rode 
out  of  the  little  gully  through  which  the  Two 
Diamond  outfit  had  entered,  riding  toward 
the  cottonwood  that  skirted  the  river — miles 
away. 

341 


THE    TWO-GUN   MAN 

A  little  while  before  sunset  the  cavalcade 
rode  to  the  edge  of  the  cottonwood.  Staf 
ford  halted  his  pony  and  looked  at  Fer 
guson,  but  the  stray-man  had  seen  enough 
tragedy  for  one  day  and  he  shook  his  head, 
sitting  gloomily  in  the  saddle. 

"I'm  waitin'  here,"  he  said  simply. 
"There'll  be  enough  in  there  to  do  it  with 
out  me." 

The  clear-eyed  man  looked  at  him  with  a 
grim  smile. 

"Why,  hell!"  he  said.  "You  ain't  goin' 
in?"  his  eyes  lighted  for  an  instant.  "I 
reckon  you're  plum  white!"  he  declared. 
"You  ain't  aimin'  to  see  any  free  show." 

"I'm  sayin'  so-long  to  you,"  returned 
Ferguson.  "You're  game."  A  flash  of  ad 
miration  lighted  his  eyes. 

The  clear-eyed  man  smiled  enigmatically. 
"I'm  stayin'  game!"  he  declared  grimly, 
without  boast.  "An'  now  I'm  tellin'  you 
somethin'.  Yesterday  Leviatt  told  me  he'd 
shot  Ben  Radford.  He  said  he'd  lied  to  Ben 
about  you  an'  that  he'd  shot  him  so's  his 
sister  would  think  you  done  it.  You've  been 
342 


EDGE  OF  THE  COTTONWOOD 

white,  an'  so  I'm  squarin'  things  for  you. 
I'm  wishin'  you  luck." 

For  an  instant  he  sat  in  the  saddle,  watch 
ing  a  new  color  surge  into  the  stray-man's 
face.  Then  his  pony  was  led  away,  through 
a  tangle  of  undergrowth  at  the  edge  of  the 
cottonwood.  When  Ferguson  looked  again, 
the  little  company  had  ridden  into  the 
shadow,  but  Ferguson  could  make  out  the 
clear-eyed  man,  still  erect  in  his  saddle,  still 
seeming  to  wear  an  air  of  unstudied  non 
chalance.  For  a  moment  longer  Ferguson 
•saw  him,  and  then  he  was  lost  in  the  shadows. 


S48 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

TWO  weeks  later  Ferguson  had  occa 
sion  to  pass  through  Bear  Flat. 
Coming  out  of  the  flat  near  the 
cottonwood  he  met  Ben  Radford.  The 
latter,  his  shoulder  mending  rapidly,  grinned 
genially  at  the  stray-man. 

"I'm  right  sorry  I  made  that  mistake, 
Ferguson,"  he  said;  "but  Leviatt  sure  did 
give  you  a  bad  reputation." 

Ferguson  smiled  grimly.  "He  won't  be 
sayin'  bad  things  about  anyone  else,"  he  said. 
And  then  his  eyes  softened.  "But  I'm  some 
sorry  for  the  cuss,"  he  added. 

"He  had  it  comin',"  returned  Ben  soberly. 
"An'  I'd  rather  it  was  him  than  me."  He 
looked  up  at  Ferguson,  his  eyes  narrowing 
quizzically.  "You  ain't  been  around  here  for 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

a  long  time,"  he  said.  "For  a  man  who's 
just  been  promoted  to  range  boss  you're  un 
naturally  shy." 

Ferguson  smiled.  "I  ain't  paradin' 
around  showin'  off,"  he  returned.  "Some 
one  might  take  it  into  their  head  to  bore  me 
with  a  rifle  bullet." 

Radford's  grin  broadened.  "I  reckon 
you're  wastin'  valuable  time,"  he  declared. 
"For  I  happen  to  know  that  she  wouldn't 
throw  nothing  worse'n  a  posy  at  you!" 

"You  don't  say?"  returned  Ferguson 
seriously.  "I  reckon " 

He  abruptly  turned  his  pony  down  the 
trail  that  led  to  the  cabin.  As  he  rode  up 
to  the  porch  there  was  a  sudden  movement, 
a  rustle,  a  gasp  of  astonishment,  and  Mary 
Radford  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  at 
him.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  silence  that 
might  have  meant  many  things.  Both  were 
thinking  rapidly  over  the  events  of  their  last 
meeting  at  this  very  spot.  Then  Ferguson 
moved  uneasily  in  the  saddle. 

"You    got    that    there    rifle    anywheres 
handy?"  he  asked,  grinning  at  her. 
345 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

Her  eyes  drooped;  one  foot  nervously 
pushed  out  the  hem  of  her  skirts.  Then  she 
laughed,  flushing  crimson. 

"It  wasn't  loaded  anyway,"  she  said. 

The  sunset  was  never  more  beautiful  than 
to-day  on  the  hill  in  Bear  Flat.  Mary  Rad- 
f  ord  sat  on  the  rock  in  her  accustomed  place 
and  stretched  out,  full  length  beside  her, 
was  Ferguson.  He  was  looking  out  over 
the  flat,  at  the  shadows  of  the  evening  that 
were  advancing  slowly  toward  the  hill. 

She  turned  toward  him,  her  eyes  full  and 
luminous.  "I  am  almost  at  the  end  of  my 
story,"  she  said  smiling  at  him.  "But,"  and 
her  forehead  wrinkled  perplexedly,  "I  find 
the  task  of  ending  it  more  difficult  than  I 
had  anticipated.  It's  a  love  scene,"  she 
added  banteringly;  "do  you  think  you  could 
help  me?" 

He  looked  up  at  her.  "I  reckon  I  could 
help  you  in  a  real  love  scene,"  he  said,  "but 
I  ain't  very  good  at  pretendin'." 

"But  this  is  a  real  love  scene,"  she  replied 
stoutly;  "I  am  writing  it  as  it  actually  oc- 
346 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

curred  to  me.  I  have  reached  the  moment 
when  you — I  mean  the  hero — has  declared 
his  love  for  me, — of  course  (with  a  blush)  I 
mean  the  heroine,  and  she  has  accepted  him» 
But  they  are  facing  a  problem.  In  the  story 
he  has  been  a  cowpuncher  and  of  course  has 
no  permanent  home.  And  of  course  the 
reader  will  expect  me  to  tell  how  they  lived 
after  they  had  finally  decided  to  make  life's 
journey  together.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me 
how  the  hero  should  go  about  it." 

"Do  you  reckon  that  any  reader  is  that  in 
quisitive?"  he  questioned. 

"Why  of  course." 

He  looked  anxiously  at  her.  "In  that 
case,"  he  said,  "mebbe  the  reader  would  want 
to  know  what  the  heroine  thought  about  it. 
Would  she  want  to  go  back  East  to  live — 
takin'  her  cowpuncher  with  her  to  show  off 
to  her  Eastern  friends?" 

She  laughed.  "I  thought  you  were  not 
very  good  at  pretending,"  she  said,  "and 
here  you  are  trying  to  worm  a  declaration 
of  my  intentions  out  of  me.  You  did  not 
need  to  go  about  that  so  slyly,"  she  told  him, 
347 


THE   TWO-GUN  MAN 

with  an  earnestness  that  left  absolutely  no 
doubt  of  her  determination,  "for  I  am  going 
to  stay  right  here.  Why,"  she  added,  tak 
ing  a  deep  breath,  and  a  lingering  glance  at 
the  rift  in  the  mountains  where  the  rose  veil 
descended,  "I  love  the  West." 

He  looked  at  her,  his  eyes  narrowing  with 
sympathy.  "I  reckon  it's  a  pretty  good  little 
old  country,"  he  said.  He  smiled  broadly. 
"An'  now  I'm  to  tell  you  how  to  end 
your  story,"  he  said,  "by  givin'  you  the  hero's 
plans  for  the  future.  I'm  tellin'  you  that 
they  ain't  what  you  might  call  elaborate. 
But  if  your  inquisitive  reader  must  know 
about  them,  you  might  say  that  Stafford  is 
givin'  his  hero — I'm  meanin',  of  course,  his 
range  boss — a  hundred  dollars  a  month — 
bein'  some  tickled  over  what  his  range  boss 
has  done  for  him. 

"An'  that  there  range  boss  knows  when 
he's  got  a  good  thing.  He's  goin'  to  send  to 
Cimarron  for  a  lot  of  stuff — fixin's  an' 
things  for  the  heroine, — an'  he's  goin'  to 
make  a  proposition  to  Ben  Radford  to  make 
his  cabin  a  whole  lot  bigger.  Then  him  an' 
348 


THE  END  OF  THE  STORY 

the  heroine  is  goin'  to  live  right  there — right 
where  the  hero  meets  the  heroine  the  first 
time — when  he  come  there  after  bein'  bit 
by  a  rattler.  An'  then  if  any  little  heroes  or 
heroines  come  they'd  have " 

Her  hand  was  suddenly  over  his  mouth. 

"Why — why "  she  protested,  trying  her 

best  to  look  scornful — "do  you  imagine  that 
I  would  think  of  putting  such  a  thing  as  that 
into  my  book?" 

He  grinned  guiltily.  "I  don't  know  any 
thing  about  writin',"  he  said,  properly 
humbled,  "but  I  reckon  it  wouldn't  be  any 
of  the  reader's  business." 


THE  END. 


349 


The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is 
that  of  reading,  ff^hy  not  then 
own  the  books  of  great  novelists 
when  the  price  is  so  small 


C  Of  all  the  amusements  which  can  possibly 
be  imagined  for  a  hard-working  man,  after 
his  dotty  toil,  or,  in  its  intervals,  there  is 
nothing  like  reading  an  entertaining  book. 
It  calls  for  no  bodily  exertion.  It  transports 
hint  into  a  livelier,  and  gayer,  and  more  di 
versified  and  interesting  scene,  and  while  he 
enjoys  himself  there  he  may  forget  the  evils 
of  the  present  moment.  Nay,  it  accompanies 
him  to  his  next  day's  work,  and  gives  him 
something  to  think  of  besides  the  were 
mechanical  drudgery  of  his  every-day  occu 
pation — something  he  can  enjoy  while  absent, 
and  took  forward  with  pleasure  to  return  to. 

Ask  your  dealer  for  a  list  of  the  titles 
in    Surfs    Popular    Priced    Fiction 


In  buying  the  books  bearing  the 
A.  L.  Eurt  Company  imprint 
you  are  assured  of  wholesome,  en 
tertaining  and  instructive  reading 


THE   BEST  OF    RECENT   FICTION 

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After  Hous*,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Against  the  Winds.    Kate  Jordan. 

Alcatraz.    Max  Brand. 

Alias  Richard  Power.    William  Allison. 

All  the  Way  by  Water.    Elizabeth  Stancy  Payne. 

Amateur  Gentleman,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Amateur  Inn,  The.     Albert  Pay  son  Terhune. 

Anna  the  Adventuress.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Anne's  House  of  Dreams.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Anybody  But  Anne.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Are  All  Men  Alike,  and  The  Lost  Titian.    Arthur  Stringer, 

Around  Old  Chester.    Margaret  Deland, 

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Athalie.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.     Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

At  Sight  of  Gold.     Cynthia  Lombardi. 

Auction  Block,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky.    Eliza  C.  Hall. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Ritchie.     Margaret  Deland. 

Bab:  a  Sub-Deb.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Bar  20.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar  20  Days.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar-20  Three.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

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Behind  Locked  Doors.    Ernest  M.  Poate. 

Bella  Donna.    Robert  Hichens.  (Photoplay  Ed.)* 

Beloved  Traitor,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.    Wm.  J.  Locke, 

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Beltane  the  Smith.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Betrayal,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Beyond  the  frontier.    Randall  Parrish. 

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Black  Butte*.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 


AT     A      POPULAR      PRICE 

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Black  Gold.     Albert  Payson  Terhune. 

Black  Is  White.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Black  Oxen.     Gertrude  Atherton.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Blue  Circle,  The.    Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    Alfred  Olivant. 

Box  With  Broken  Seals,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim« 

Brandon  of  the  Engineers.    Harold  Bindloss. 

Breaking  Point,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart, 

Bridge  of  Kisses.    Berta  Ruck. 

Bring  Me  His  Ears.    Clarence  E.  Mulford, 

Broad  Highway,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 

Broken  Barriers,     Meredith  Nicholson. 

Brown  Study,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.    Clarence  E.  Mulford, 

Bush-Rancher,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Cabbages  and  Kings.    O.  Henry. 
Cabin  Fever.    B.  M.  Bower. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wrigh^ 
Cape  Cod  Stories.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln, 
Cap'n  Eri.     Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Carnac's  Folly.     Gilbert  Parker. 
Cat's  Paw,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 
Cattle.    Winnifred  Eaton. 

Certain  People  of  Importance.     Kathleen  Norris. 
Chief  Legatee,  The.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Cinema  Murder,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
City  of  Lilies,  The.    Anthony  Pryde  and  R.  K.  Wcehetj 
City  of  Peril,  The.    Arthur  Stringer, 
Clipped  Wings.     Rupert  Hughes. 
Clue  of  the  New  Pin,  The.    Edgar  Wallace. 
Colorado  Jim.     George  Goodchild. 
Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Coming  of  the  Law,  The.     Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 
Communicating  Door,  The.    Wadsworth  Camp. 
Comrades  of  Peril.     Randall  Parrish. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     Booth  Tarkington. 
"Contraband.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 
Corurt  of  Inquiry,  A.   Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Crimson  Blotter,  The.    Isabel  Ostrander. 
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Bex  Beach. 


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Crimson  Tide,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Cross  Currents.    Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
Cross  PuU,  The.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cry  of  Youth,  A.     Cynthia  Lombard!. 
Cup  of  Fury,  The.     Rupert  Hughes. 
Curious  Quest,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Curved  Blades,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Cytherea.    Joseph  Hergesheimer. 

Damsel  in  Distress,  A.  Pelham  G.  Wodehouse. 

Dancing  .Star,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Danger  and  Other  -Stories.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Dark  Hollow.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Daughter  Pays,  The.    Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 

Depot  Master,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Desert  Healer,  The.    E.  M.^Hull. 

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Devil's  Paw,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

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Doimegan,     George  Owen   Baxter. 

Door  of  Dread,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Doors  of  the  Night.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Dope.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenneim. 

Dust  of  the  Desert.    Robert  Welles  Ritchie. 

Empty  Hands.    ArtKur  Stringer. 

Empty  Pockets.    Rupert  Hughes. 

Empty  Sack,  The.    Basil  King. 

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JExtricating  Obadiah.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Eye  of  Zeitoon,  The.     Talbot  Mundy. 

j£yes  of  the  Blind.    Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

Eyes  of  the  World.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Fair  Harbor.    Joseph"  C.  Lincoln. 
Family.     Wayland  Wells  Williams. 
Fathoms  Deep.    Elizabeth  Stancy  Payne. 
Feast  of  the  Lanterns>.    Louise  Gordon  Mim. 
'Fighting  Chance,  The,    Robert  W.  Chambers. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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